


Impractical Magic

by sierraadeux



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M, Magic, Strangers to Lovers, Witch Phil Lester, Witches, Writer Dan Howell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 67,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22104259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sierraadeux/pseuds/sierraadeux
Summary: When restlessness and a rainstorm bring Dan to Witch’s Brew, a hidden gem amongst the corporate coffee chains of London, everything is not what it seems. Or maybe they are, exactly how they seem.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 443
Kudos: 330





	1. Chapter 1

Dan doesn’t know the answer to a lot of things. Why did the chicken cross the road? Why is the sky blue? Or, _well—_ he looks up— _grey_. How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie pop? He just doesn’t have the answers. 

Currently, there are three pressing questions he doesn’t know the answers to: 

_Why do I have writer’s block?_

_Why am I walking through an unfamiliar part of town?_

_Why would someone choose such a stupid name for a café?_

Dan slows his pace, stopping completely in front of the storefront, a heavy dose of judgement in his eyes. Tilting his head up, he squints at the sign. **Witch’s Brew** stares back at him. Next to it, a silhouette of what Dan presumes to be a witch—pointy hat, and all—is standing in front of a giant mug of coffee, stirring its contents, as if the mug was a cauldron. He’s seconds away from rolling his eyes and continuing on his path as he mutters something about stereotypes and tourist traps, but he feels a drop of water on his cheek. 

And another. Then three more. 

He looks straight up—in hindsight, a bad idea—and a droplet of rain hits him right in the eye. _Shit._ He’s standing on the pavement, probably an hours walk back to his flat, god knows where the nearest tube station is, and he’s got his laptop in his very much _not_ waterproof backpack on his shoulders. 

_Coffee it is,_ he sighs and turns to push open the door. A bell chimes above him, louder than the soft Fleetwood Mac song—of course he recognizes it, obviously he has some appreciation for the classics _—_ that filled the store, quieter than the whirring coffee machines. 

There’s a specific aura about the room he’s stepped into that is _interesting_ , to say the least. And that is, if Dan even humored the notion that auras were a _thing._ The temperature inside is warm, not in an overbearing _I’m about to sweat through my jumper_ way, but in a comforting way. 

Immediately upon entering, the door barely even getting the chance to swing shut behind him, his nose is filled with the scent of brewing coffee. It’s a comforting smell, familiar, but there's something about it that doesn't smell like every other coffee shop he’s been in. He breathes it in, the deep breath making his chest feel lighter in an unexplainable way, as he looks around the café. 

It’s empty, and Dan is both disappointed and relieved all at once. He’s the first to say that he doesn’t like crowded spaces, other people in large quantities aren’t his thing. But it’s much harder to slide into a shop to wait out the rain, going as unnoticed as possible, when you’re the only customer in the shop. 

Sage. That’s what he’s smelling. Maybe a hint of patchouli. The aromas of those health and wellness shops that tout spiritual healing—the ones that Dan hates—mixed with the University dorm room of that one guy who always burned too much incense for Dan’s liking. That’s what the scent of the shop reminds Dan of, but somehow, minus all the bad parts of those two smells. There’s an earthy freshness to it, less of a burning smokiness, more comfort. It doesn’t make Dan cough, nor does he think it’ll give him a headache. It’s quite nice, actually. He thinks he likes it. 

Dan looks out of one of the large windows and glares at the rain. It’s quickly gearing up to torrential levels, the light sprinkle becoming heavier and heavier as he blinks. There’s no patter from above, and the music and coffee machines seem to be drowning out the sound of the rain that he can see is whipping sideways at the windows. He’s almost disappointed, who doesn’t love the sound of the rain? 

It might be one of those quick afternoon showers, the sky letting loose for a few random minutes. Or it might be a real storm, not letting up for the foreseeable future. This odd coffee shop would have to do for the time being. 

Dan turns back towards the counter, running a hand through his slightly damp curls as he makes his way over. The barista behind said counter has his back turned to him, too engrossed in whatever he’s doing to notice that Dan had stepped in. And, well, that _whatever_ is swaying his hips back and forth, a fluid motion in time to Stevie Nicks’s singing. 

A bit of a haze falls over Dan as he leans against the counter, one that he can’t pinpoint the start of—from when he stepped into the shop, or from when he first looked at the barista. All he knows is that everything is a bit foggy around the edges, the man in front of him crystal clear. He feels hypnotized, and he’s aware of it, but he just can’t shake his head and snap out of it. So he stands there and stares, tapping his shoe to the floor with the beat, and watches the barista dance while he wipes down the back counter. 

Now that Dan’s full attention is on him, he can pick out the deeper, slightly out of tune, voice singing with Stevie. 

“Sister of the mooooo- _oh_!” the man’s voice squeaks, cutting himself off from his belting as he twirls around. The towel in his hand that’s stretched up towards the ceiling—dramatically, a part of his dance—drops to the floor. Dan’s breath hitches and he traces every inch of the barista’s face as it turns a beautiful shade of pink. 

_Beautiful,_ beautiful is the word. No wonder he was in a haze. He can feel himself shaking out of it as the man turns around, stopping his singing and looking at Dan like a deer caught in the headlights. Dan starts to wonder if he possesses some sort of sixth sense within him, his body reacting to seeing a beautiful man before he could even _see_ him. Because he can see him now—stark pale complexion, cutting cheekbones flushing red, and perfectly arched brows. Eyes so blue, staring at him from behind clear framed glasses, that Dan feels himself start to sweat under his jumper. The temperature of the café has nothing to do with it. 

Dan finds his voice, “Don’t stop on account of me.” Somehow it comes out more clear and stable than he could have ever expected it to. 

The man laughs, Dan can see the corners of his eyes crinkling from behind his glasses. His laughter sounds like music. 

_Ethereal,_ ethereal would be the other word. 

“Sorry, I didn’t have an ear out. No one usually comes in around this time.” He smiles and bends down to retrieve his towel. 

Dan’s eyes flicker to the name tag pinned to his chest, among the galaxy of golden embroidered stars on his black jumper. 

_Phil_. 

He says the name in his head, a few dozen times, as the man across from him steps forward and taps at the iPad screen propped up in front of him. Dan would love to say that name aloud, shout it, whisper it, sigh it into the shell of his ear. 

_Wow, okay, there’s definitely something more than coffee grounds and sage in the air._

“I’ll be honest, I only came in to escape the rain.” Dan meets Phil’s smile with his own sheepish one, trying to not completely press himself against the counter to get closer to him. 

A glance towards the window, another sing-song laugh. Dan feels like he could melt into his shoes, right in this very spot. 

Phil looks around, then leans forward, as if he’s about to share a secret with Dan. “Well, you’re in luck. The coffee here is _magic_ ,” he whispers the last part, waggling his brows. 

Dan tries, very, very hard, to not roll his eyes. 

“What can I get you?” Phil inquires, pulling himself back into his own space, before Dan has the chance to offend him. 

Dan takes this chance, now that he’s seemingly out of whatever spell he was under, to finally look up at the menu board. He can’t help but let out a dry laugh as he does. It’s a large chalkboard menu, drinks and pastries with kitschy names handwritten in different colors of chalk, little doodles of broomsticks, stars, coffee mugs, and cats are dotted around the items. He does, actually, roll his eyes as he reads **_double, double, toil, and trouble espresso_**. 

“Uh, can I just get a coffee?” He looks away from the board and back at Phil, who is tapping his fingers on the top of the iPad to the tune that’s playing through the shop. 

“Just regular? Hot? Large? Small? How do you take it? Are you _sure_ you don’t want anything more fun?” Phil fires the questions off at him, his tapping ceasing as he looks into Dan’s eyes with his head tilted—ever so slightly—to the side. 

Dan isn’t sure he won’t simply die on the spot with such an attractive man looking at him like _that_ , so he looks back up at the menu board of corny magic and witchy coffee puns. 

They don’t help him at all, he looks back to Phil. 

“Hot, definitely. And um, I don’t know. Not too light, not too sweet. Maybe a pump of caramel if you’ve got it.” 

Dan swears Phil’s smile makes the room brighter, almost like he has to squint his eyes when it’s flashed at him, similar to when you look up at the sun without sunglasses. The smile stays as he nods and looks down at the screen in front of him, tapping away. 

“Name?” His eyes creep back up, looking over the clear glasses that are making quick work of sliding down his nose—as his chin is still turned down towards the screen. 

“Dan.” 

“ _Dan_ ,” Phil repeats. Dan does _not_ analyze how it’s said. He blinks and Phil is looking back up at him, glasses back in place. Dan barely saw a movement for them to be fixed. But he doesn’t dwell on that either. “Three pound fifty.” 

Dan can’t even let himself feel the shame as he pulls his wallet out, cursing the fact that he doesn’t have any cash on him. He pulls out his card and shoves it into the reader, mourning the loss of the chance to touch the other man’s hand if he had physical money on him. Damn, millennials, ruining the paper money _and_ Dan touching hot men’s hands industries. 

_What has gotten into me?_

Another question he doesn’t think he has the answer to, but he ponders it anyways while Phil turns to make his drink. There’s a, “Take a seat, I’ll bring it over to you,” said over the clang of machinery, and Dan does as he’s told. 

Maybe it’s just this shop—the smells don’t induce a headache, so maybe they’re inducing Dan’s thirst instead. _Thirst that isn’t for coffee._

Dan takes a better look around the café as he decides on a place to sit. It’s not necessarily dark, but it’s also not very bright either. He assumes the large, floor to ceiling front windows—that had a dark wood high top counter, with matching tall stools, installed down the length of them—bring in a significant amount of light when it isn’t grey and dreary outside. The soft lighting around the room is comforting though, and Dan has half a mind to think that this is the kind of place he would enjoy going to. Even if there is a whole silly _witches and magic_ theme going on that he could do with less of. Dan really has no basis to shame though, he’s no stranger to being into weird things that other people don’t understand. 

The other walls of the café are all a slightly weathered-looking brick. Paired with the dark rustic wood of the tables, that match the large bookshelf that is taking up a significant amount of one of the walls, it gives off a whole reclaimed vibe. Plants are absolutely everywhere. Some hanging in their pots from the ceiling by macramé holders—the crystals dangling from their holders casting faint rainbows around the room. Many smaller plants are dotted about on the tables, and long hanging plants sit atop the bookshelf—their ends tickling at the spines. 

Most notably, is the wall adjacent to the bookshelf, almost completely covered in vines. The brick behind them barely peeking through. Dan squints at it for a moment longer, the vines almost looking like they are _moving._

 _Okay,_ he needs to sit down. 

He chooses a spot in one of the plush, velvet chairs that are set up in a sort of semicircle around the lit fireplace that’s built into the other half of the bookshelf wall. The fire pops and crackles at a perfect height, and it warms Dan’s toes through his shoes. Dan must have spent too much time and brainpower as he attempted to work through his writer’s block in his flat this past week, because he swears the tips of the biggest flame float off into little dancing star shaped embers. He digs his knuckles into his eyes, in an attempt to see things clearer, and stares at the fire. No stars. 

_Okay Dan, just a bit out of your mind then._

Dan moves his attention to the art on the wall in front of him, pushing the sleeves of his jumper up to his elbows as the heat of the fire spreads throughout his body. It’s a sort of gallery wall, above the fire, framed prints covering the majority of the brick. A chart of herbs and their names in a soft watercolor, pixel art phases of the moon, a plain white print with **_Witch, Please_ ** in black calligraphy, among others. 

Dan’s eyes rest on a print of a constellation that is _glowing—_ he thinks, one of those cool art pieces with fairy lights stuck in the back of it that he’s only ever seen on Pinterest. He wonders how whoever made it got it to hang so thin and flat against the wall. He picks it out as Aquarius. At least, that’s what his limited knowledge of the stars and astrology tells him. He laughs at a drawing of a, _definitely hunky_ , shirtless man in a witch’s hat, suggestively holding a broom between his legs— ** _hex appeal_ ** written underneath him in a serif typeface. 

_Maybe,_ maybe Dan can’t say there aren’t _some_ good things in all of this witchy decor.

He shakes his head to himself as he looks away, pulling the zips of his backpack open and grabbing his laptop out of it. He scoots back into the chair, desperately wanting to cross one of his legs under the other to get comfy, but he can’t stomach the idea of getting the pretty blush pink velvet of the chair dirty from his shoes. He’s comfortable enough regardless, absolutely sinking into the chair as if it were made of clouds. 

Dan opens his laptop on his lap, tapping in his password, and immediately clicking up at the top of the screen to connect to WiFi. Because _obviously,_ that’s the first thing Dan does in every situation _. Stable internet connection first, everything else second._

He frowns at the screen, a short list of nearby networks, all of them locked. He’s about to settle on connecting to his phone’s hotspot, when he actually reads the name fifth down on the list. 

**SabrinaTheTeenageWiFi**

He looks up, Phil bouncing towards him with a grin and Dan’s coffee in hand. The sight itself stops Dan from how he was about to roll his eyes at the network name. Because the only way Dan can describe how Phil is moving, is bouncing. His steps light for such long legs, but having an air of clumsiness that makes Dan wonder how he makes it over to where he is sitting without dropping or spilling the coffee. Dan can’t help but smile. 

“Here you go!” Phil places the mug down on the small side table next to Dan’s chair. Dan follows his movements— _because coffee, not because he feels compelled to stare at the other man—_ noticing that the mug has a beautiful floral design, and that it is sitting on top of a small matching plate. A— _is that...yeah, it is—_ bat shaped scone rests on the plate, both the bat and the coffee steaming in an almost movie magic type of way. He follows the wisps of steam as they spiral upwards with his eyes. 

“Thanks,” Dan says, mostly to the scone. _They really go all in here, don’t they?_

“It’s blueberry.” 

Dan smiles, now looking back up at Phil. “I can see. He’s cute.” Dan gestures to the scone, he’s still looking at Phil. 

“Thank you, I raised him myself.” Phil’s voice—much like his laughter—sounds like music to Dan’s ears. 

“Now I’m going to feel guilty eating him,” Dan chuckles, leaning against the arm of the chair so he’s a bit closer to Phil. A fake pout takes over his face. 

Phil doesn’t miss a beat and pouts back, mirroring Dan’s expression. But Phil’s pout turns into a grin. “It’s okay, his only dreams in life are to be eaten. Please help him achieve his dreams, Dan,” he winks with the words and Dan decides he has never loved the way someone has said his name more. 

Dan leans over and pulls a piece of wing off, popping it in his mouth. It tastes freshly baked, like it just came out of the oven, and he wills himself to not moan in front of this _ethereal_ barista. 

Phil goes to turn on his heel, back towards the counter at the front of the shop, but Dan is quick to reach a hand out to stop him. His hand is only on Phil’s elbow for all of two seconds, but he swears he sees sparks flying off his hand as they touch— _he must really be feeling off today, maybe week long writing lock ups in his flat were finally getting to him._

Phil smiles, but he gives Dan’s hand a weird, lingering look, and Dan has to remind himself he shouldn’t just touch strangers like that. 

“Sorry! Um, I was just wondering what the WiFi password is?” Dan catches Phil’s eye, and something about the look in them makes Dan think he wasn’t offended by the touch. Phil’s eyes flick to Dan’s computer, then back to Dan, his nose doing some sort of cute twitchy thing—like a rabbit. 

“It’s an open network, uh, the Sabrina one if that wasn’t obvious,” Phil replies nonchalantly and Dan nods a soft, “ _T_ _hanks!”_ He feels a bit dumb. _He swears that one was locked. They all were._

“Feel free to put your feet up, get cozy, the dirt zaps right off!” Phil gestures towards the chair Dan’s sat on as he backs away. Dan quirks a brow and Phil’s eyes become impossibly wide. 

“It’s the fabric! It doesn’t look it but it’s super stain resistant, dirt brushes right off,” Phil quickly huffs out, all at once, as he stumbles backwards towards the front. 

“Alright,” Dan says, keeping a soft smile on his face, even though he isn't really sure what is going on. “Thanks, Phil,” he adds, probably too quiet to be heard from across the room where Phil is now, but Phil turns anyways, shooting a smile in Dan’s direction. 

Dan returns it. Maybe he won’t admit it, but he isn’t mad about the unexpected rain today. 

Before taking a sip of his coffee, Dan turns his focus back to his computer. He clicks on the networks once again and, lo and behold, one unlocked network stands out amongst the rest. 

_Alright, definitely need to be taking more breaks,_ Dan makes a mental note as he connects and starts opening all of his tabs and documents. _Or maybe a trip to the optometrist is overdue._

Dan feels only the slightest bit guilty as he instinctively repositions himself, folding a leg under his other thigh, and settling back in the chair more—getting dangerously close to how he looks on his own sofa at home. _Yes,_ the one that is developing a crease from his attempts at becoming one with it. He would go one further, and bend the other leg up to rest his foot on the chair, but he has the decency to not be _that_ chaotic in public. 

Once he’s comfortable, he leans to the side to pick up the coffee mug on the table next to him. As he brings the mug to his lips, he makes a mental note that it is definitely _not_ a paper cup in which the customer’s name would need to be written on it. _Smooth_. He smiles. 

Maybe Dan’s assuming, thinking too much into things, but maybe he’s not. 

He takes a sip, his eyes growing wider as the hot—but not too hot, the _perfect_ coffee temperature—liquid hits his tongue. It tastes like Dan’s secret shame. His favorite caramel macchiatos from the corporate coffee chain he’s too ashamed to name. But this drink, somehow, is better. The coffee tastes strong and not bitter. The caramel is richer, and it’s not as sickly sweet. He can’t help the quiet groan that escapes his lips as he takes another sip, looking across the room and thanking that Phil was turned the other way—not seeing the way Dan’s eyes had just rolled to the back of his head in pleasure. 

_Was this man some kind of coffee making virtuoso?_ He ponders the thought as he gets back to work, making his way through the blueberry scone as he does. 

The rain is now coming down in sheets, the only reminder of the sudden dramatic weather being his small glances every now and then as he sips and works. Or _well,_ as he types and deletes...and types...and deletes. 

He tries, very hard, to not look up from his laptop, as he can hear Phil pattering about. A handful of people step into the shop every now and then, hushed voices ordering drinks, then leaving the shop as quickly as their drinks are made. He’s enjoying the background noise, even though he isn’t getting much done, and a large part of that background noise is Phil’s humming and singing along to the music playing in the shop. It only stops whenever someone comes in, resuming once they’ve left again. So as much as he wants to look, he’s afraid if he catches Phil’s eye he might stop.

That doesn’t completely rule out the occasional peek from behind his laptop screen, just a few seconds, to catch the other man twirling around and shaking his hips. 

He dances and sings in such a carefree way, it almost lifts the looming stress off of Dan’s shoulders. He doesn’t remember the last time he, himself, has felt that free and unashamed of how others might see him. It’s been quite some time, Dan’s almost jealous of the other man. But then again, maybe he’s just forgotten that Dan is even here and Dan is romanticizing something that doesn’t even exist. He’s guilty of that, does it more than he should. 

Dan realizes his small peeks start to linger—the edges of his vision get hazier as Phil sings louder—so he schools himself to keep his eyes to himself. 

There’s absolutely no reason for him to walk the line of daydreaming this exact scene, just with Phil dancing in Dan’s kitchen instead of behind the counter of this coffee shop. But he does anyways. They’re just in hoodies and pants, Phil failing to flip pancakes. Dan watching him from behind his favorite Final Fantasy mug, admiring how the bright red of Dan’s old university hoodie brings out the flush to Phil’s face. They’re both giggling, an obscene amount of laughter for two grown men.

He blinks. That same red flushed face further away, from behind the counter, dancing stopped. Dan realizes he hadn’t actually pulled his eyes away. _How long has he been staring?_

Dan shoots Phil a sheepish smile. It’s returned, Phil holds his hand up to wiggle his fingers in a small embarrassed wave before busing himself behind an espresso machine. 

_Dan really needs to get some sleep._

He tries to write, he really does, but it’s much of the same _nothingness_ that he’s been producing over the past week, the past month, the past year. He sighs, probably more dramatically than necessary, and runs a hand through his hair, failing at keeping it in any sort of order as he tugs at the ends before letting go. 

Another sigh as he closes his laptop. Dan leans into the arm of the soft chair and reaches for his coffee. The scone is long gone, but his coffee is still surprisingly full. He’s probably been sitting in the café over an hour now—maybe closer to two, but Dan hasn’t been keeping track, and he doesn’t pull his phone out to check the time. Despite that, the steam from his coffee still resembles one of those aesthetic Tumblr GIFs that were popular in 2012, swirling a few inches up from the cup in a constant fluid motion. It’s almost unbelievable, the coffee’s perfect temperature, the way he hadn’t been conservative with his sipping as he _tried_ to work, and there—sitting between his two hands—is a perfectly fresh and _full_ cup of coffee. 

_Dan must be truly losing it._

So exhausted he hadn’t noticed Phil pass by to refill his coffee, apparently. He doesn’t dwell on it though, exhaustion has been making him see stranger things lately. 

He makes a note to come back sometime, hopefully he can catch Phil working again, stick four— _maybe five—_ coffees worth of cash in the tip jar for him. 

Dan looks up from where he’s been staring into his coffee, scanning the front counter to see if there even is a tip jar. From where he’s sitting, he can see the little trinkets sitting around the register that he hadn’t noticed before when he was, _um_ , _noticing_ something else. A little black cat with a pointy purple hat on its head, a clear bowl— _okay, it’s shaped like a cauldron—_ with what looks to be colorful pins filling it to the brim, a wooden wand leaning against a tall black wax candle. He squints at the tall, rectangular glass bottle sitting next to the iPad that’s propped up on the counter. It’s stuffed with coins and cash, and Dan barely can act surprised when he registers that the creepy looking label on the front of it says **_Eye of Newt_**. 

He huffs, maybe as a writer he should appreciate this place more than his initial passing judgements. Kitschy witch café or the physical embodiment of a Macbeth stan account? 

He sips at his coffee. It’s still warming and _perfect_ and Dan is sure he’s never going to be able to drink a certain massive corporate chain’s caramel macchiatos ever again. The fire still crackles beside him, he’s been spoiled. 

Dan sighs. This time, it’s out of contentment, the opposite of his frustrated sighs just a few moments before. He puts his coffee back down and one of his knees lets out a satisfying pop as he shifts in his chair. He stretches his back a bit, bending from side to side—a few smaller, equally as satisfying pops—before repositioning himself so both of his legs are curled up in the chair. 

_Phil told him he could, so he might as well._

Dan leans his head back on the back of the chair, resting his cheek against the plush fabric. He looks straight on from this new angle, looking out the window for the first time in probably an hour—he’s not sure, time barely feels real to him anymore _._

_Oh, the rain has stopped._

It’s a similar grey outside as it was when Dan first came in. But that’s just London, as he can definitely tell there’s nothing falling from the sky. He’s comfortable, but he really should be going. 

That’s when it registers that he hadn’t noticed Phil buzzing about behind the counter when he was inspecting its decor. 

He looks back at the counter. No Phil. He scans the room again, reluctantly pulling himself up out of his slouch when he sees no one in his peripheral. Peeking his head behind the back of the chair, he spots the only other person in the café. 

Phil has his back to Dan, much like when he first walked in, but this time he is softly swaying his hips in front of the wall that’s covered in vines. Dan wonders, with a small smile and an even smaller puff of air out of his nose, if this man ever _stops_ moving his hips. He pushes the thought away when something kin to fondness begins to swell in his chest— _none of that._

Dan’s been present enough to know that the same band hasn’t been playing on loop the whole time he’s been here, no, it’s been a decent mix of ‘60s and ‘70s rock. A little soft, some bluesy tracks sneaking in, but it has definitely had a heavy hand sprinkling in the Fleetwood Mac songs. He doesn’t recognize the song Phil is currently moving along with specifically—though he’s versed in the classics, the music isn’t his personal go-to—but he does recognize it as Stevie Nicks’s voice. Again. 

Dan can barely hear Phil’s humming, but it’s definitely there as he tenderly runs his open palm down one of the vines. He’s so gentle with the action, and as Dan watches he realizes Phil isn’t humming along with Stevie. The sounds coming from Phil and the overhead speakers are not the same, Dan notices, he’s cooing to the plants. Talking to them. He almost, _almost_ , feels like he should look away. Like this is a tender, private moment he, a stranger, shouldn’t be spying on. But he doesn’t. 

_Of course he doesn’t._

It’s when the plants start to move, in places too far away from where Phil’s hand is touching, and Dan thinks he sees _light_ emitting from Phil’s palm, that he looks away. He turns back around in his chair, rubbing his eyes before picking his coffee back up. He once again, thinks that he should probably go. He looks down at his mug, it’s still quite full. He can stay a bit longer, just until he finishes his coffee. 

He makes quick work of getting back into his previous position, cheek pressed against the back of the chair, legs curled up against him. He cradles his coffee to his chest, and exhales. It’s long and it relieves something in his chest. His eyes feel heavy, so he lets them blink shut— _just for a moment—_ as he listens to Stevie Nicks sing. 

“ _Well, maybe I’m just thinking that the rooms are all on fire every time that you walk in the room. Well, there is magic all around you, if I do say so myself. Well, I have known this much longer than I’ve known you…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hope y’all enjoy this, I really think it’s been in the stars for me to write a witchy magic coffee shop au, and I hope it’s not _completely_ self indulgent, haha. As a heads up tags are pretty slim right now because, for some reason, I’m posting this as I write. (definitely a very new thing for me...1 - I promise I won’t abandon this story as I’m infatuated with it, but I get it if you hold off on reading wips and 2 - I’m thinking weekly updates, might have to skip a week every once in a while, might have 2 updates in a week other times...we’re casual over here this time friends!) So that being said, I’ll probs update some tags as I go, but if you want any heads up on anything feel more than free to hit me up if you don’t care about spoilers (sierraadeux on twitter/tumblr) but without spoilers I can promise y’all I can never write too much sad without ten times as much happy, other characters might be added as I go, and maybe some other elements as well that I don’t want to spoil with tags.  
> ALSO! I’m trying out updating a playlist to go alongside this as we go along, as I _am_ a music person and can’t help myself. A bit of fitting songs for key moments, a bit of what Phil chooses for the shop playlist, a _lot_ of Fleetwood Mac. Feel free to slap the shuffle button, or be guided by my carefully crafted tracking order (recommended). Listen on Spotify [here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0biHc1ZQYSyoNVF3fwjJ5A?si=Z6hFP3rfRn6ACO-NIcbqRw) and let me know if you want me to attempt cross-playlisting on other services!  
> ALSO!!! Lovely lovely lovely Gretchen has already brought witchy Phil to life go look at her amazing art [here!](https://twitter.com/pjsforestkid/status/1213183216078721024?s=20)  
> Thanks for reading!!!! :)


	2. Chapter 2

A small whine finds its way out from deep in Dan’s chest as he’s pulled out of a blissful, dreamless sleep. He instinctively curls in on himself, his cheek pressing further into his palm, the back of his hand rubbing against something soft. He feels beyond comfortable. Warm, all tucked in on himself—Dan hasn’t felt this level of relaxation in months. 

He sighs, a small smile tugging at his mouth as he allows himself to drift back off to sleep, ignoring whatever it is that woke him—though he doesn’t get a chance to. 

A warm hand squeezes at his shoulder, and he’s brought completely back into reality. There’s a hand on his shoulder, an Elton John song playing softly overhead, and he is curled up in... _a chair?_

Dan jolts upright, another voice, _not Elton of course_ , squeaking as he does—the hand on his shoulder now gone. Dan’s pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, in a futile attempt to rub the sleepy puffiness away, as the other voice speaks. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!” 

Phil. 

_Phil._

Dan fell asleep in the middle of a café. The most worrying aspect is that he isn’t sure if that’s a new low or high. He keeps his hands over his face for a moment longer, not too keen on facing this kind of embarrassment head on. 

On the plus side, _if there could be a plus side_ , he feels rested—awake even. That wasn’t something Dan felt often, as of late. 

_Dear god, how long was he asleep?_

And because he unfortunately cannot bring himself to forget that there is another human standing, probably, not even a foot away from him, Dan reluctantly removes his hands from his eyes. 

Phil is bending down, just enough that his tall frame is brought down to eye level with Dan in his chair. Clear glasses are slipping down his nose as he looks at Dan with genuine concern in his eyes. A hand—Dan presumes the one that was not just on his shoulder—is resting on the arm of the chair. Dan can’t help but stare for a moment, a blazing blush quickly taking over his face, and his sleep ruffled hair and puffy eyes are forgotten. He can feel how warm his cheeks are, he wonders if they’re the same color he sees on Phil’s.

Dan blinks and breaks their alarmingly intense eye contact, sitting up straight in the chair. 

“S’alright. Sorry for crashing like that. How long was I asleep?” 

Phil snaps upright at Dan’s voice, stepping a pace back with both of his hands clasped behind him. The previous worry on his face is something more neutral now. Dan almost misses how he was crowded into the chair. 

_No, stop it, it’s the sleep talking._

“Don’t worry about it. Um, I’m not sure.” Phil lets go of one of his hands, just for a moment, to scratch at the back of his head. Dan, of course, gets distracted with the way the little golden stars on his jumper shimmer with the movement. 

“I only noticed you were asleep after I did my plant rounds. Uh, watering them, I mean!” He nods up behind Dan, presumably at one of the plants hanging over the bookcase. “I saw you were sleeping as I was walking back to the front, I don’t know how long you were out before that…” Phil trails off and Dan quirks a brow. 

He gets a sheepish smile and shrug in return. “It’s been an hour since then. I couldn’t bear to wake you, you looked so peaceful. I’m sorry, I hope you didn’t have anywhere you needed to be.”

Phil is looking at Dan as if he’s just had to tell him that he kicked his puppy, or something horrible like that. It’s actually quite sweet. Dan notes that the scone plate and mug are cleared away—the mug had to have been removed from his sleeping clutches, as he’s pretty sure he was holding it when he dozed off. _Very sweet._

Dan feels... _taken care of._

“Thank you,” Dan says, genuinely, making eye contact with Phil—whose glasses were back up at the peak of his nose. He rolls his shoulders, the crackle and pop incredibly satisfying. “Like, _shit_ , I needed that.” He moves to grab his laptop so he can stuff it back into his bag. 

He catches Phil’s eye as he stands up, swinging the straps of his backpack over his shoulders. “I’ll get out of your hair now.” 

Phil steps back as Dan starts to make his way out and there’s a light hand on his shoulder when they pass each other by. It’s there only for a second, just a tap, pulled away in a flash. Dan blinks a few times as some sleepy eye floaters seem to have appeared in the corner of his eye. They’re gone just as quickly as Phil’s hand. 

“Please, feel free to stop in again.” It sounds so sincere Dan almost wants to whine. He nods his head instead, lips pulling into a tight—but genuine—smile, and makes his way to the door. 

_He’s just a sweet guy that works in a cozy shop, nothing more._

The music switches to another song—Dan wonders briefly if this barista chooses the music that plays overhead—as something bright and colorful catches Dan’s eye. He can’t see him, but judging by the clatter and humming behind him, Phil has gotten back to work behind the counter. And Dan is two steps from the front door. 

In yet another blatant disregard of the rules of not overstaying your welcome, Dan stops to inspect the large bulletin board hung by the side of the door. 

Maybe it’s because he wants to take another moment before stepping out onto the damp London streets. Maybe it’s because he wants to inspect the flyer that sits in the middle of it. He won’t disclose. 

**LGBTQ+ Lit Nights**

**Queer Book Club**

**Wednesdays**

**7 Before Witching Hour**

Dan’s intrigue piques as he reads the text inside the image of a rainbow stack of books. It’s like he really didn’t _need_ an excuse to come back here, but the forces that be were throwing them at him left and right. 

He lets his eyes wander around the rest of the board. **Ten black kittens needing FUR-ever homes. Missing broom, call if found.**

_Huh, they really do take the theming seriously._

He scans a few more flyers, all seeming to be meetings or activities that happen regularly at the café. Mixers, Tarot readings, spell book binding workshops, gaming nights, craft nights, séances, and whatever a _cleansing night_ is—not like Dan has much of an idea of what any of the other nights entail either. Maybe except gaming night, but based on the decor of this place, the game is probably _fucking Quidditch._

Dan doesn’t dwell on the logistics of playing Quidditch in a small café, he’s allowed to have a bit of an eye roll at the ridiculousness of it all—even though the coffee shop has definitely grown on him since his initial impressions. 

The unbelievably hot guy behind the counter has nothing to do with it. 

Dan turns his head and easily locates Phil, bopping his head to the music by the espresso machine, glasses desperately clinging onto his nose for dear life. 

“Hey, is this like…” Dan turns to press his index finger to the literary night flyer, then looks back at Phil—who’s now looking at Dan as he pushes a misplaced piece of hair back into his styled quiff. “Anyone can come? Do you know if there’s a certain book they’re reading for this week?” Dan’s voice is noticeably smaller as he asks, a mix of uncertainty and Phil’s wide eyes staring into his very soul. 

_Or, well, it feels like that at least._

A grin settles on Phil’s face. “You can definitely come, and no, we’re not doing a group reading at the moment. We’re probably picking something this week, so it’s the perfect time for newcomers.” Phil’s expression is excited, his voice encouraging, but all Dan can focus on is “ _we."_

“Alright.” Dan lets the corner of his mouth tug up, a dimple is probably on view. Phil’s smile just gets wider. “Oh uh, _seven before witching hour?_ ” he asks, incredulously. 

Phil gives him a weird look, brows scrunched together, eyes squinted. 

Is this really some sort of universal time Dan should know? _For fucks sake, he can barely keep up when people switch between the twelve hour clock and military time._

Phil’s features quickly change though, replaced with a toothy grin and a giggle that makes his tongue poke between his teeth. 

“Its eight. Eight on Wednesday nights.” Phil says the words like they’re the funniest thing in the world. Dan doesn’t get it, but maybe he just doesn’t get a lot about this place—about this barista. 

“You can take the flyer if you want, I have more!” Phil calls as Dan turns to finally make his way out the door. 

Did Phil... _want_ him to come? 

“Oh. Okay.” Dan doesn’t let the thought bloom, pulling the tack away from the rainbow flyer, taking the sheet, and replacing the tack on the empty spot on the board. 

“Thank you!” He holds the flyer up towards Phil—like he would if he were raising a champagne glass for a toast—and is out the door with a blast of outside air and a, _“See you soon,”_ called after him. 

_Yeah,_ Dan thinks, _I think you will._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to go up later this week as a much longer chapter, but said chapter became much, much longer and it felt better to break it up like this so I hope you enjoyed the little tidbit! Posting a wip that is, well and truly, a wip is definitely going to lend for some chaotic posting on my end - maybe I'll try to rein myself in, maybe I'll embrace the chaos...who knows? definitely not I !  
> And I popped two more songs onto the [playlist!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0biHc1ZQYSyoNVF3fwjJ5A?si=LmBUHmKtR--Cy3vTKJ-SsQ)


	3. Chapter 3

Dan wakes on Wednesday morning with imposter syndrome confidently cuddling into both of his sides. An uninvited bed-mate. He doesn’t appreciate the reminder—though always there in the back of his brain, it at least was typically kind enough to not hit him from multiple angles all at once. But with the prospects of making his way back across town to go to Witch’s Brew again, for _Queer Book Club_ , it is being especially unkind. 

_What do you do when your imposter syndrome has imposter syndrome?_

But Dan is going. He’s not letting those thoughts talk him out of it. _Not this time_ , at least. 

After a lie in that creeps into late afternoon—because if he’s being real, those thoughts make getting out of bed a bit harder _—_ Dan goes about his day as usual. Breakfast—or whatever meal counts as eating cereal over one’s sink at two in the afternoon—is had, an article is edited and published, and an extraordinarily long shower is indulged in. 

By the time the sun is leaving the sky, Dan is staring at his reflection in the large mirror propped up against his bedroom wall. It’s a real Daniel Howell classic: black jeans with torn knees and a white and black striped shirt— _not_ the black and white one, _there’s a difference—_ under his oversized black denim jacket. 

He’s got his small silver hoop earring in his right ear, and the thoughts in the back of his mind tell him that it’s not enough. He agrees, though he promises himself he won’t make a habit of doing so, and rifles through one of his desk drawers. He’s stabbed more than a few times as he looks, cursing past Dan for thinking it would ever be a good idea to toss open and backless pins loose in a drawer, but there’s no major bloodshed when he pulls out the one he’s looking for. Just a simple rectangular enamel pin, striped in rainbow. 

He affixes it to the flap of his front pocket, _somewhere above his heart maybe,_ and has his shoes on and is out the door before the thoughts of _too much_ can plant any roots. 

It’s curious, that when the rain started to trickle down the day he found himself outside of the odd coffee shop, he didn’t notice there was a convenient tube station two blocks straight down the street. Like so many others, the question floats through his mind, but he doesn’t contemplate it. Maybe the only answer he needs to know is that he was meant to step through that specific door that day. 

_Romanticizing again_ , Dan warns as he sticks his hands in his coat pockets and weaves himself through the heavy foot traffic of his street. The ride over is exponentially shorter than his first walk, for which he’s grateful, but not surprised by. He really had been aimlessly wandering down side streets for quite some time that day.

 _Don’t start, he knows._ He’s vowing to kick the habit of extended writing lockdowns. It’s not like they were accomplishing much anyways. 

Dan huffs, stepping back out onto the street, much less crowded than his own. He slows his pace—though it doesn’t accomplish much, his long legs bringing him the few blocks down to the café far quicker than he was ready to face it. 

He can see his reflection in the shop window, so he messes with his hair, smoothing and fluffing curls that were already perfectly in place to begin with. 

_He was doing this, wasn’t he?_

Funny how being a literal published gay author still couldn’t stop Dan’s brain from convincing him that he doesn’t belong. He tries to squash the feeling before it prevents him from opening the door, licking his lips— _why can’t he ever remember to throw chapstick in his pocket?—_ before stepping inside with a grounding breath and a feigned air of confidence. 

Dan is hit with the, now familiar, mix of coffee and earthy herbal scent of the shop. There’s a new layer to it that he picks out, a sweeter, warm smell. Something he can only relate to freshly baked pastries, or the sugar cookie candle he got as a gift one year that he only pretends he doesn’t like the smell of. He notes that either the coffee machines must be powered down, or the Queen song playing overhead is bumped up a few notches more than the music was the other afternoon. 

It’s not the only thing that’s different about the vibe of the café, as he scans the room. The fire still crackles, though the room is darker. Warm light comes from a few corner and tabletop lamps, fairy lights, and many, many lit candles. Round wax candles in various colors sit on almost every available surface, the beads of melted wax dripping and melding some of the clusters of candles together. Dan is almost worried about it being a fire hazard. 

A lot of the furniture is rearranged as well, pushed around to make a larger circle of those cozy velvet chairs by the fire. Dan thinks there’s more of them now, but maybe he’s just not as observant as he thinks he is. He _was_ practically dead on his feet that day. 

The vibe is lively, people scattered about, all having their different conversations—in their different worlds. Someone is sprawled out sideways in the dark green chair, arm dangling to the floor. There’s two people in the center of the haphazard circle of chairs, loosely clasped hands swinging between them as they dance along to the song as if no one is watching—he guesses that happens a lot here. 

Speaking of… Dan’s eyes land on Phil, who’s currently shoving at the shoulder of the person that’s perched atop the back of the pink chair. Dan doesn’t have a second to stare unabashedly, because Phil is looking right over him. A big smile and a raised hand with wiggling fingers. Dan returns the wave, not being able to stomach more than a shy smile as the other person turns to look at Dan as well—there’s more judgement there, Dan can feel it. 

He’s halfway to convincing himself to just bolt out the door when a voice speaks up from beside him. 

“Don’t let them scare you off, they’re just a bunch of weirdos. PJ especially, but stick around for more than one meeting and he won’t think twice about dying on his wand for you.” A shoulder lightly bumps into his arm with the words. 

_On his wand,_ he repeats in his head. Dan isn’t sure why he’s surprised that a place decorated in full witchy decor would attract, well, _witchy_ people—or, whatever people who were into all of that made up stuff were called. 

“Boys will be boys, they say,” she adds as she gestures to where Phil and, _Dan guesses_ , PJ are now fully play fighting—their booming laughter filling the room. She laughs, too. “Well, they _shouldn’t_ be saying that, but it works in this situation.” 

Dan pulls his attention away from whatever is unfolding on the other side of the room to turn his head. He’s met with an inviting smile, the woman standing next to him stepping away from his side to hold out a hand. He isn’t sure if he should stare at the stark black hair—with a thin, bright streak of white at the front—or the long, pointy nails on the hand that’s outstretched towards him—a galaxy design on them that Dan swears is actually _swirling_. So he settles on her eyes instead, _should’ve started there_ , as he gently takes her hand and shakes. 

Her other hand is clasped over both of theirs before he could do his typical quick retract— _did he mention how much he hates handshakes_? This one is soft though, gentle, so it doesn’t stir up the usual discomfort. 

“I’m Emerald, I prefer Em for short, but if you’re pissed at me it’s Emerald Marie” She chuckles as she lets go of his hand. “But you have to say it like my mum, _Emerald Marie_ …” she raises a fist in the air as her voice goes stern and Dan can’t help but laugh along with her. 

“Dan,” he supplies when she looks at him expectantly. “Or I guess Daniel if you’re feeling formal.” 

“Well it’s nice to meet you Daniel, we’ve heard so much.” Em smiles as something glints in her eye, and Dan wants to turn into mist and float out the door. _Heard so much?_

About _what? About him?_

 _From Phil_ , he presumes. 

_What?_

No, really _, what?_

His internal panic over what the fuck that even means, stays internal as Em steps closer to him, pulling out a roll of blue and white stickers from her cardigan pocket. He registers what they are exactly as she peels one off with the edge of a pointy nail and presses it to the fabric of his shirt, after a, “ _M_ _ay I?”_ and a nod from Dan. 

He stews in only a bit of his own guilt, as he’s reminded that he’s just assumed again, eyes flicking to the same sticker on Em’s chest—her name, pronouns, and a handful of hand-drawn gems on it. He was right, but that’s his reminder to be more mindful. 

A sharpie appears in Em’s hand, seemingly out of nowhere, and she makes quick work of writing his name. Though, he doesn’t feel the pen press against his chest—she must just have a light touch, like her handshake. 

“Oh, he him.” He supplies when Em pulls back for a moment, only tilting her head the slightest bit to look up at him—she isn’t much shorter than Dan. 

“And like, what’s your _thing?”_ She waves the pen around in the air. 

Dan quirks a brow. 

“Em, _emeralds_ ,” she gestures towards herself, “Phil always wants planets or plants, Quinton goes for cats, PJ chooses a different thing every week… Everyone gets a thing, like an initiation I guess,” she explains. “You though, I can’t quite tell what your thing is.” Em squints her eyes at him, and Dan isn’t sure why he feels like she can see into his soul. That’s been happening too often for his own liking lately. 

“I dunno. I don’t think I have a thing.” 

Her eyes squint, impossibly narrower, as she regards Dan. He’s let out of the gaze quickly though, Em leaning forward again to fill out the rest of his name tag. 

When she’s finished, all of two seconds later, she welcomes him once again and tells him to make himself at home, gesturing towards where everyone else is congregating. 

As he’s having a bit of an internal pep talk, he bends his head down to look at his chest—his name and pronouns written in the same looping script as Em’s, but they sat within a sea of stars and comets. He didn’t know what his _thing_ was, but they were pretty. They could be his thing. 

He looks back up. PJ is, somehow, wielding a lightsaber—holding it in one outstretched hand, the tip poking at Phil’s chest. Both of Phil’s hands are up, waving the proverbial white flag. 

_What nerd hell has Dan gotten himself into?_

And why does it bring a smile to his face? 

As if he could feel Dan’s eyes on them, Phil looks his way and flashes a smile, all teeth and pink tongue poking through. Dan isn’t quite sure what to do with how that look sends a shock through his body, from his toes all the way up to the frizzy tips of his hair. So he dives straight in, crossing the room in a few steps, neither of them letting their gaze drop. 

“You came!” Phil steps forward once Dan breaches the cozy chair circle. 

PJ’s lightsaber drops from Phil’s chest with a huff and a, “ _T_ _his means I win,”_ thrown Phil’s way as he flicks its green light out and tosses it, and then launches himself, onto the pink chair. 

“I did.” Dan isn’t quite sure what to do with himself, his hands, his anything. Phil looks like he’s about to step forward for a hug, a hand lifting in a way that would be too odd for a handshake, but that would be weird, wouldn’t it? They barely know each other. 

In a split second act of sheer bravery, maybe some delusion, Dan steps forward and leans into Phil’s space. He only wraps his right arm around Phil’s shoulder, giving him the old _shoulder squeeze-back pat_ number. It’s definitely too much and not enough all at once, Dan inhaling the sage of the shop that clings to Phil’s clothes, as well as something more warm and musky—almost sweet, like honey. He locks that information away for safekeeping as he quickly pulls away, deeming that a few second dude-bro hug is somewhat acceptable for two people who have spoken all of five sentences to each other. 

It was just a friendly hug. Perfectly acceptable. Because they are strangers, strangers who Dan hopes will become friends. That’s all that this is. 

_Yeah, okay_. 

Dan tries, he really does, to be subtle as he looks at Phil now that he’s up close. He’s got the same dark jeans and shoes on, paired with a light grey NASA jumper, and—true to what Em said—his name and pronouns in Em’s handwriting are settled amongst a galaxy of planets on the sticker on his chest. 

“Do you want anything before we get started? We have treats!” Phil gestures towards the coffee table that’s by the fire, steaming pastries and cat shaped biscuits iced in black are set out. “I can make you a drink if you want.” 

“I probably shouldn’t have a lot of caffeine this late,” Dan bends over and grabs one of the cats, “I will have one of these though.” 

“Decaf? Or I can make you a tea?” Phil searches his face as he asks, and Dan notices Phil’s glasses have little blue specks of glitter within their clear frames. _Were they like that last time?_ Dan thinks that’s something he would notice. 

“I’m f-” 

He’s cut off by a voice behind him, “If you say no he’s going to fret about it all night.”

“Phil doesn’t know how to not be hospitable, you’ll give him a complex if you refuse his tea,” a different voice adds before Dan can even turn his head. When he does, Phil mumbling something about that _not being true_ next to him, his eyes meet the two people that were dancing earlier, now sharing the yellow chair behind him. He returns their bright smiles with his own, smaller, one and turns back to Phil. 

“A tea would be lovely.” 

Phil perks up at his words, grinning before taking off towards the front counter with an, _“I’ll just be a minute,”_ and a light tap of his hand against Dan’s elbow. 

Dan can still feel the touch as he turns back to the two people in the yellow chair. His eyes flick to their name tags while he steps forward to hold out a hand. _Yes,_ he hates himself for the action, but now that he’s shaken one hand he can’t help but feel like that’s the acceptable greeting around here. And Dan really wants to fit in, for once. For some reason. 

_He pointedly ignores the voice in his head that says something about how he just hugged Phil._

“Hi, I’m Dan.” 

“Charlie,” the person sitting on the arm of the chair grabs his hand first. She’s wearing a long, flowy dress in a similar mustard color to the chair, and there’s birds flying about her name tag. She has dark eyes and a kind smile, and Dan can only be painfully jealous at how _not frizzy_ her head of shiny, perfectly spiraled curls are. 

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it as his hand is quickly dropped and replaced with another, attached to the person actually sat _in_ the chair. 

“River, at your service.” They squeeze Dan’s hand a bit harder, but it’s not unpleasant in the least. Dan starts to think he understands Em’s earlier words about everyone’s different “ _things”_ as he looks at them. A forest of trees surrounds their name on their name tag, their eyes are hazel, and their short hair is a bright forest green. 

“Nice to meet you both,” Dan says as his hand drops to his side. 

“Come sit!” Charlie leans to the side to pat at the burgundy chair that’s next to them. “Phil always chooses the blue,” she adds in a lower voice, winking at Dan, and River barks out a laugh. 

Dan can feel how red his face must be flushing, and he knows it’s not from the heat of the fireplace. But he shrugs off his jacket anyway before settling down in the chair, folding it so he can drape it on the arm of the chair—paying more attention than he normally would, just to busy his hands. And, well, distract himself from feeling… _embarrassed?_ He’s not quite sure what the feeling blooming in his chest is. 

He’s biting the head off of the cat shaped biscuit, staring ahead at the flames of the fire, when a hand is placed on the back of his chair and Charlie is leaning over the space between them. 

“We don’t get new people often, if anyone acts weird, that’s why,” she explains as Dan chews. “We’re not cliquey, I don’t think we are at least. Riv are we cliquey?” she asks over her shoulder.

River’s head pops out from behind Charlie’s body as they lean forward in the chair. “Nah, our co- _friend_ group is just protective.” 

There’s a, “ _Y_ _ou got that right,”_ called from the other side of the circle. 

Charlie smiles, looking at Dan again. He smiles back, because he truly isn’t sure what else to do. She leans into his space, “You know, I told Phil no more white boys, I can barely handle him and PJ as it is…and he listens to me, so you must be _something.”_ She squints her eyes at him. “I think you’ll fit right in.” 

Dan smiles at that, and it isn’t forced, even though he still feels judgement from every angle of the room. 

“Otherwise I’ll have to hex him, for sure,” Charlie laughs, leaning back, and River joins in. Dan lets out a nervous laugh as well, because _what the fuck?_

“What are you doing to who now?” Phil says from behind Dan, sliding between Dan and the empty blue chair. 

“Me, hexing you, if Dan’s anywhere near half as annoying as you and PJ are.” Charlie replies, matter-of-factly as Phil hands Dan a steaming mug. 

Phil barks out a laugh and a, “ _S_ _hut_ _up_ ,” at Charlie as Dan looks down into the mug. There’s a heart design in the green and white foam. He brings the mug to his lips, the smell of matcha hitting his nose before his tongue. _Dan’s favorite._ He’s not even going to stop himself from thinking further into it, not with Dan’s favorite specialty tea— _perfectly made_ , he notes as he tastes it—topped in heart shaped latte art. The universe cannot possibly expect him to _not_ fall. 

He looks over at Phil who is now settled in the chair next to him, one long leg crossed over the other. 

“I love matcha,” Dan hums as he leans into the arm of his chair, like Phil is a magnet pulling him in. “Thank you.” 

“Oh!” Phil mirrors Dan’s movements. “Good!” 

“You didn’t make something for yourself?” Dan gestures at Phil’s empty hands. 

“Um, oh, no.” Phil runs a hand through his hair, Dan following the motion with his eyes like his life depends on it. He thinks briefly about a barista who goes out of his way to make someone else a drink when he is, seemingly, not working, and the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. 

“I can share.” He holds the mug out to Phil and their fingers brush as Phil accepts it. 

If Dan feels floaty at the small touch, _well_ , he should be free of shame in his own mind, right? 

Phil passes the mug back after he takes a sip. “So I see you’ve met Riv and Charlie…” 

“And Em. When I came in.” 

“Right! Emmy! She and Charlie are kind of our mums. They try to keep us in line.” Phil points to the curly haired man in the pink chair, “That’s PJ, he’s my best mate. And that,” Phil turns and jabs a thumb towards the chair next to him, “is Quin. He works in, well, uh, he works odd hours... if we don’t let him nap before meetings he’ll sleep straight through them.” Phil says in a lowered voice. 

Dan peers over to the figure that’s laying across the chair, his eyes are closed and there’s a serene look on his face. His jeans are even more ripped than Dan’s— _which, like, impressive._ And although Dan can only see half of his face from how it’s pressed into the chair, he’s instantly transfixed on the shimmering highlight that’s built up on his cheekbone. 

All of Phil’s friends are like, _painfully_ , attractive. _What is up with that?_

Not like Dan is complaining, he looks back at Phil. His pale skin is tinged pink high up on his cheeks, and he’s looking back at Dan with something in his eyes that makes Dan’s stomach do somersaults. An impossibly beautiful man, with his group of impossibly beautiful friends—who all seem to have a shared otherworldly aura about the way they carry themselves that Dan doesn’t quite understand. These are the type of people that Dan _doesn’t_ fit in with. Not nearly attractive or interesting enough, he’s convinced himself. 

“These chairs see a lot of napping, huh?” Dan jokes, not knowing why he’s bringing his own embarrassment back up, but he never said he _wasn’t_ awkward. And he needed to rein his racing thoughts of inadequacy in somehow. 

“They _are_ cozy.” Phil leans further back into his chair, closing his eyes with a content hum. “I’d say I chose well.” 

“You picked these out?” Dan looks around the circle, admiring the colorful chairs in a new light. 

“Mhm.” Phil reaches over to take the mug from Dan’s hand, and Dan is passing it over with an ease that would make an outsider think they’ve been practicing the same pass off for years. “Everything else in here as well.” He waves his free hand around, the fairy lights glowing brighter as Dan regards the room with this new information in mind. 

Dan turns his head now, looking at Phil with wide eyes. “Wow, that’s a lot of free rein.” 

“Well, I mean…” Phil takes a small sip from the mug, then presses it back into Dan’s hand. “I _do_ own the place, so I think I’m allowed.” 

“ _Oh_. Wow.” Dan can’t stop the shock on his face. “Good for you,” he adds with a soft nudge at Phil’s shoulder. It takes a lot out of him to not keep his hand there, but he doesn’t let it linger.

Phil gives him a wide grin in return, Dan can tell it’s full of pride. 

“So you’re like... proper into this stuff?” 

Phil’s grin gets smaller. “This stuff?” 

“Like all the hocus pocus, silly magic and witches stuff.” Dan realizes the mistake he’s made the second Phil’s brows tug together. That was... not the right thing to say. 

He’s only been on the receiving end of a Phil frown for all of two seconds and he already feels like he needs to go repent and beg for forgiveness.

_Maybe be more gentle if you’re going to be yucking someone else’s yum, Dan._

“Sorry, that was… I shouldn’t have called it silly.” He’s quick to flash apologetic eyes at Phil, reminding himself that being overly judgmental and never having a filter is the reason why he’s only got one good friend as it is. 

“It’s alright,” Phil says, not sounding like it’s alright at all. “Just maybe don’t like… say that,” Phil adds in a low voice, “around anyone else here. I know that it seems silly to outsiders, but like… it’s a lot more than that to us.” Phil looks pensive for a moment, biting his bottom lip. Dan feels overwhelmingly guilty. Phil goes to open his mouth a few times, but settles with it closed, looking from Dan to the fire. 

Dan speaks up when he realizes Phil isn’t going to explain more, which, he doesn’t need to. Not at all. “I’m sorry. I wont- I… I just didn’t get it. I’d like to, though,” he adds with a chuckle that is all nerves and very little humor. 

Phil looks over at him with a small smile. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Dan realizes how absolutely ridiculous it is that he knows next to nothing about the man sitting next to him. He’s pretty. He owns a coffee shop, in which he dances around to Fleetwood Mac while working. And he likes kitschy witches and magic stuff—so much so that it almost seems like it’s a defining part of his life. But Dan doesn’t know anything else about him. He doesn’t even know his last name. Yet here he is, giving him a smile with a look in his eyes that contains a level of fondness that is definitely not appropriate for mere strangers. 

The question of Phil is something that Dan thinks he might stop at nothing to know the answer to. 

“I’d like to get to know you, too.” It is hummed so softly, the rest of the room so full of chatter and laughter, that Dan almost doesn’t catch it. But he does. 

When he looks at Phil, images flash through his mind. Phil twirling Dan around the coffee shop. Dan, in an unfamiliar space, throwing a Switch controller at Phil. Looking out at the sea, a soft, familiar chuckle in his ear. He’s not entirely sure if they’re of his own volition, or maybe that’s just what he tells himself to rationalize daydreaming about a person he barely knows that is still, _currently,_ sitting next to him. 

Ever the writer, Dan, always building stories and different universes in his head. Perhaps he would appreciate it more if they weren’t so intent on staying within the walls of his brain, and instead would come out of his fingers every now and then. And maybe if they did, he would encourage the hazy, spacing out daydream moments he has.

But for now, he just feels embarrassed, flushing red as he focuses out of fantasy Dan and Phil walking down the street, an umbrella floating overhead, and back into reality Phil—who’s got a curious look in his eyes but a soft smile on his face. 

“Phil, do you have plans to actually start this meeting?” River breaks through their moment.

_Because that’s what was happening, right? They were having a moment?_

“Since when have we _ever_ been formal here?” Phil quips back as he leans over the other side of his chair to shake at Quin’s foot to wake him. Dan notices the music is lower now, back to just a backdrop soundtrack instead of its previous, more bop-able volume. 

Dan learns a lot of things at this queer— _in more than one sense of the word—_ book club gathering. He learns that, as an extension of his coffee shop, the safe gathering spaces Phil organizes are his passion project. And with that, he also learns that Phil is incredibly talkative once you get him going about something he’s passionate about. Dan probably has stars in his eyes as he watches Phil next to him, leading the rag tag group of friends through various topics and discussions. 

Dan can tell, almost instantly, as they all settle around the circle and lose their individual conversations to be a part of the group, that they’re more like a family. They’re all finishing each other’s sentences, laughing at inside jokes, and a few other odd things happen that Dan can only explain to be a product of being an outsider that doesn’t quite understand. Though maybe it’s more so the coffee shop, strange things seem to keep happening here. 

With this, though, it’s abundantly clear that Dan is an outsider. He gets a few hesitant looks, some thoughts are cut off—left unfinished—like there are things they don’t want to talk about around the _new guy_. But, surprisingly, he doesn’t _feel_ like an outsider. Dan’s the type of person that won’t insert himself into a conversation if he feels like he’s not being addressed or welcomed, but that isn’t happening here. Phil keeps looking his way with reassuring glances, Charlie leans over from where she’s perched to squeeze at Dan’s shoulder and cackle the few times he lets a sarcastic joke leave his mouth, and PJ even invites Dan to one of his movie nights when Dan is the only one in the room to understand his obscure Star Wars reference. 

They actually, at length, have discussions about literature and the importance of LGBTQ voices. Dan learns that all of these people are _so fucking smart._

People that actually encourage Dan’s long winded rants about books and sexuality? Dan never thought he would see the day. 

Which is why he catches himself off guard when River asks Dan if he’s ever considered writing think-pieces and the answer flows right out of his mouth. 

“I used to.” Dan sighs. “I’ve kinda just been shelling out fluff pieces and listicles to keep the lights on while I'm writing my second book. Or, I’m trying to, at least,” he adds with a huff of a laugh. 

There’s a mix of responses, all at once, from around the circle. 

“You’re a writer?” from Quin.

“You should’ve started with that!” from Charlie.

“ _Second_ book?” from River. 

Dan has whiplash from his head shooting around the circle, trying to keep up, but he can’t give much more of a response than a shy shrug as all eyes are on him. There isn’t a chance to go into his usual spiel about his job, as Phil is shooting up from his chair, making a beeline for the bookshelf in the wall. 

“Phil…” PJ’s warning voice is called after him, but Phil just waves him off before stepping up to the books. 

“Phil has like, every book under the sun,” Em says from behind Dan, clearly far closer than she had been two seconds ago, as she was sitting on the other side of the circle. Dan turns in his chair to look at her, she’s got a weird look on her face, and Dan quirks a brow. 

How did he manage to make the room feel so tense and strange so quickly? Guess that’s a new anti-social talent he can add to his resume. 

“I doubt he’ll have mine, it wasn’t a big release,” Dan hums. 

“I’d place a bet, but I don’t want to take your money.” Em smiles. “Phil’s like our own personal library, all the wi- regulars borrow books from here.” 

_Huh,_ just when Dan thought he couldn’t be more infatuated, the man has to go and be the _community fucking library_. Dan is, utterly screwed. 

Em has her hands on the back of his chair, and Dan takes the opportunity to admire her nails again. He’s thinking about asking her what brand of polish it is that makes her nails glimmer in a way that looks like stars are shooting across her fingers, when Phil lets out an excited shout from the corner of the room. 

“Is this it?” Dan looks back over at Phil who’s walking back towards the chairs waving— _yep, that’s Dan’s book—_ a black book in his hand. The familiar shiny black foiled “LMAO” standing out against the matte black cover. 

Dan nods his head, his cheeks heating up. Maybe he can blame all the blushing he’s been doing on the crackling fire. 

It’s not like Dan wasn’t proud of his book. It was good. It was raw, pretty emotional, and he put his very soul into it. He was proud of his book. He just, has a _thing_ about having to look other people in the eye as they read his book, or talk about his book, or anything of the sort. It’s his first book, it isn’t perfect, but it’s his baby—so he’s protective of it and embarrassed by it all at once. 

It’s for that reason, fretting over new people— _someone Dan admires—_ judging his book, that it barely crosses his mind _how_ it could have been possible for Phil to not only have his book on his bookshelves, but _how_ he was able to pick Dan’s book out without knowing Dan’s surname or the title of his book. Maybe it slipped Dan’s mind, maybe he did tell Phil his full name. Or, you can usually see a name when someone makes a card purchase—that was it, Dan used his card when he was here the other day. 

“ _Howell._ Like a wolf!” Phil says, examining the book’s spine. 

Dan kind of wants to sink into his chair and die. 

“Maybe he’s a child of the night after all,” Charlie hums as Phil plops back in his seat. 

“L M A O?” Quin questions with a quirked brow. Dan tries to not get jealous at how effortlessly cool the action looks with the little cut out stripe in his bleached blonde brow. And well, he guesses he also tries— _and fails—_ to not get jealous at how Quin gets up from his own seat to lean into Phil’s side so he can peer at Dan’s book. 

_No jealousy at all._

“Life, Morality, and Achieving Optimism.” Dan repeats the words he’s probably said a thousand times. It’s written in a tiny black font, under the large acronym, and most people miss it. If he wanted to, Dan could probably find a few metaphors in that.

“Deep,” Quin hums, giving it one last look before sliding back into his own chair, as it seems like Phil isn’t going to let the book leave his hands anytime soon. 

“It’s basically just the poetic documentation of every existential and sexuality crisis I’ve ever had from birth ‘til two years ago when I finished writing it.” Dan shrugs. 

_Maybe it was a bit pretentious and brooding—but that was a bit Dan, wasn’t it?_

“Wouldn’t that be L M A A O?” Phil asks, really emphasizing the extra A—much to Dan’s dismay. He’s flicking through the pages of the book as he asks, a double whammy of horror. 

Dan groans, sitting back in his chair. “Don’t remind me. Also definitely don’t read it too carefully, the amount of typos that got past editing is actually embarrassing.” 

Phil looks up at Dan, with a mischievous look in his eye, as the hardcover of the book slams shut with a satisfying thud. 

“Oh, we’re definitely reading it.” 

“ _We’re?”_ Dan croaks. 

“All in favor of this week’s book being Dan’s, say aye!” There’s a chorus of enthusiastic “ _aye_ ”s from the rest of the room before Phil even finishes his sentence. 

“If you’re okay with that, of course,” Phil says in a lower voice, directed at Dan. There’s no teasing or mischief in his eyes this time. 

As much as he wants to crawl into a hole at the idea of these ridiculously intelligent, and beautiful, and fearlessly unapologetic people reading and picking apart his book, he nods his head. He doesn’t examine why. 

“I do have to warn you,” Dan addresses the group, “it’s a bit heavy, a _lot_ gay.” 

Everyone laughs, including Dan, the sound ringing around the room in a harmony with the soft music that’s gone ignored over their conversations. 

“Funny. That’s exactly what I said when I had to carry Phil up the stairs after one too many… drinks last weekend.” PJ hums from across the room when the laughter dies down, spurring on an even louder round of laughter from the friend group. 

Dan’s eyes flick to Phil, who has his book covering his red face. But with the way his shoulders are bouncing up and down, and the corner of a grin Dan can see peeking out from the book, he’s laughing too. 

All too soon, after more laughter, deep chats, and pastries that are suspiciously still steaming—they _are_ sat out on the table next to the fire, Dan guesses—the night comes to an end. Dan leaves with friendly hugs, a few of those warm pastries in a little baggy slipped into his jacket pocket by Phil, and an invite to come back again—everyone in the room nodding in agreement. And Dan smiles—a real, genuine smile—because he knows he will. 

As Dan waves one last goodbye before stepping out the door, he looks at the book that’s tucked under Phil’s arm as he waves back. Snippets of Dan’s very soul are just _there_ for Phil’s taking. And Dan still doesn’t even know Phil’s last name. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist for this as always is right [here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0biHc1ZQYSyoNVF3fwjJ5A?si=FsVtFnLQT26Qy06SYL9dBQ)  
> Special thankies to Mile for having a big galaxy brain and letting me spin-off her idea for Dan's book name, love you!!!!!


	4. Chapter 4

Spending time at Witch’s Brew becomes a part of Dan’s regular routine. There isn’t a conscious decision there, Dan insists. He just… likes the atmosphere. So he finds himself getting up and out of bed earlier than usual most days, out the door with his backpack stuffed with his laptop, a handful of tangled charger cords, and his notebook. Oh, and he makes sure a tube of his favorite minty chapstick holds permanent residence in its front pocket.

 _You know, just in case._

Paying more attention to his chapped lips, actually running product through his frizzy curls, putting a bit of a thought into not wearing the same striped shirt multiple days in a row—Dan swears it’s just regular self care, it has nothing to do with a certain cute barista. 

_Nothing at all._

Dan doesn’t think about how the trip to the coffee shop has practically become second nature. He’s able to have his head in his phone, switching between skipping through songs on Spotify and skim reading his emails, as he walks down the familiar street. He pulls his headphones out of his ears and pockets his phone once he’s in front of the shop—that’s another thing he’s realized, he quite enjoys Phil’s playlists. Enough so that he ditches his own music when he enters, choosing to work along to the shop’s music instead of his own. 

_It has nothing to do with how Phil sings and dances along to the music. Nothing at all._

The bell chimes above Dan’s head as he enters. 

“Morning Dan!” the object of Dan’s affections calls from behind the counter with a wave that almost smacks the person trying to order in the face. 

Dan snorts. “Hi Phil.” He salutes with two fingers as he makes his way over to his second favorite spot in the café, the last seat at the bar by the window. His first obviously being one of the soft chairs by the fire, but he had a hard time keeping his eyes open when he was so comfortable in that spot, so the window seat in the corner is his more productive choice. Of course, he doesn’t sit straight forward in the stool, but at an angle with his back against the brick wall. It’s probably doing nothing good for his back, but he’s able to tap away at his laptop at the counter in front of him, people watch when the rare pedestrian passes by the window, and—most importantly—catch glimpses of Phil bouncing, stumbling, and twirling around the shop. 

There’s a few people dotted around the shop, doing much of the same as Dan. He learns that the shop is fairly busy in the mornings—for some reason unknown to Dan, other humans _actually_ leave their house before the afternoon. Dan doesn’t analyze how he’s quickly becoming one of those people. 

There’s someone by the fire, tucked up in a chair, reading a book. Another two people are sat across from each other at one of the wooden tables, Dan recognizes one of them as Charlie _,_ but he doesn’t know the other person. She’s placing cards from a large deck out on the table, the person across from her leaning forward, regarding what she’s doing with an intense stare. 

Dan chooses to not say hello as he passes them, as he doesn’t want to interrupt. He tosses his bag on the counter and shrugs out of his jacket, folding it and placing it on the stool next to the one he deems the best. 

With a glance up at the front of the shop, Phil still busy with a customer, Dan decides to set up his little workstation. His laptop is set out on the countertop. A tangled mess of cords are tossed next to it for when it would inevitably die, because he was up in the wee hours on a Wikipedia marathon and didn’t plug it in before he fell asleep. His notebook and favorite gel pen—the one that writes so smoothly, but smudges when he isn’t paying attention to how his hand drags across the page before it’s dry—are set out to the left of his laptop. 

“Hey you.” Dan’s tugged out of his careful organizing by Phil’s voice from beside him. 

“Hi.” Dan looks over to see Phil stepping up to him, he’s cradling a moderately large mug between both of his hands, and he’s got a grin on his face that makes Dan’s heart do flips. 

Dan questions whether his heart would ever get used to this feeling—the one he gets when he looks at Phil. Or, when Phil looks at _him_ like _this._

It’s a question he thinks he knows the answer to.

_Definitely not._

He knows it’s dangerous to already feel so much for someone that is just barely above a stranger, someone he isn’t even sure he could call a friend yet. Yet here Dan is, looking back at Phil like he personally hung the sun in the sky. 

At least Dan is self aware, _he guesses._

Phil’s got the sleeves of his black shirt pushed up to his elbows, the blue old school SEGA Genesis logo on his chest matches the glints of blue in the frames of his glasses—as well as his eyes. 

But Dan needs to not look in his eyes, not when Phil is leaning into his space to place the mug next to Dan’s laptop. Sweet amber and sage fill Dan’s nose. 

He only barely stops the whine in the back of his throat. He wants to follow Phil as he steps back again. But he doesn’t, it’s not easy though. Dan’s ferromagnetic and Phil’s field is _so_ strong. 

He can say it’s just a harmless crush all he wants, but he knows that isn’t true. 

“What are we working on today?” Phil nods his head to Dan’s open computer. 

Dan hops up on his stool, hoping sitting will stop the pull to get closer to Phil. 

_It doesn’t._

“I need to finish this listicle.” He rolls his eyes at the page that’s open to the website he’s never been proud of working for, but it pays the bills—he knew how to internet, his ‘articles’ always getting far more clicks than they really should. “Maybe get some book work done,” he adds with a shrug.

“Oh, how’s that going?” Phil asks with genuine curiosity in his tone. He’s leaning against the counter on his elbow, head in his hand. Dan decides his features are somehow more striking with his head cocked to the side like this. 

“The book?” Dan asks, because clearly everything that is _Phil_ is short circuiting his brain. 

Phil nods. The magnetic pull almost hurts. 

Dan might be like, _properly_ , fucked. 

“It’s not,” Dan snorts. “If you would’ve told past me that I would get hit with the thickest of brick walls of writer’s block right after signing onto the second book deal, well, I wouldn’t have taken it.” 

He sighs, waving his hand in the air to brush the subject off. “I shouldn’t bother you with my woes, though.” 

“You’ll get there.” Phil sounds far more sure than he should be. But, of course, Phil hasn’t seen Dan’s various _empty_ Word documents or his scribbled, unintelligible mess of a notebook. But the sentiment, the look in Phil’s eyes, does something to ease Dan’s stress. 

There’s a passing thought in his mind. It starts quiet, increasing in volume until his ears are buzzing, before fizzling off into silence—like it’s shouted out of a car window as it zooms past Dan’s stationary body. Dan’s fingers twitch at the realization. 

He ignores it. 

“Well, I brought over your usual,” Phil breaks the beat of silence, Dan realizes he’s been staring. “Let me know if you want something different though.” 

Dan knew what Phil had brought over, he’s been smelling the caramel waft his way. He chooses not to analyze how having a “usual” at Phil’s coffee shop makes his stomach swoop. 

Sometimes Dan stops by the counter first, if Phil isn’t helping a customer. He gets his daily dose of failed flirting attempts—on his end—while a caramel macchiato is passed off to him. Far too quickly, if he might add, as if Phil starts making them before Dan even comes in. 

And sometimes Dan will make a beeline to his desired spot for the day—by the window or the fire—and Phil brings Dan his coffee before Dan can make his way over to the counter. Dan’s allotted his short small talk, more failed attempts at flirting—always on his end, and Phil will turn on his heel to get back to work. 

Dan will watch him walk away, and then he’ll keep looking back over as he works—it’s difficult to keep his eyes on his computer while Phil is dancing and humming on the other side of the room. Dan might get some work done, he might end up daydreaming. But he likes it better here than working at his flat. 

Phil will bring him a pastry some days, Dan thinks it’s _too nice_ for it to just be friendly. But then Phil’s friends’ voices are in his head. Phil is just a hospitable person. There’s no need to overthink and fantasize. 

Dan will always stuff some cash in Phil’s tip jar on his way out. Phil always tries to stop him, but Dan won’t let him. They’ve collected quite a few goodbyes. Or, more accurately, see you laters. 

“ _B_ _ye Phil!”_

_“Have a good afternoon, Dan.”_

_“Thanks for the coffee!”_

_“Thanks for the company."_

_“Bye Dan!”_

_“I’ll see you tomorrow, Phil.”_

_“Have a magical evening!”_

That one was only responded with a snort and Dan’s shaking head as he pushed the door open. Phil is ridiculous. Dan thinks he is, as well. 

Today, as he watches Phil head back to the front, he’s thinking about how downright delicious Phil looks in all black. If it takes a good five minutes for him to focus back on his laptop, _well_ , that’s just between Dan and his own damn self. 

Dan’s quick to finish and post “17 Depressing Realities That Keep Me Up At Night”, clicking off the clickbait website and over to his folder of Book Two documents. He’s got one foot propped up on the bar of the stool, the other tapping softly against the window in front of him. Phil seems to be comfortable with the people who are currently in the shop, because he’s bent over the front counter, nose in a book, absolutely belting along to the song that’s playing overhead. 

Dan really loves Phil’s voice, he decides. It’s deep, but it’s hopelessly out of tune half of the time, and Phil doesn’t seem to care at all. Dan wishes he could be that shamelessly free and unbothered. 

He turns his head back to his laptop, clicking off of his book files and opening a fresh Word document. The earlier thought that passed through his mind returns. The rest of the afternoon seems to fly away, as Dan’s fingers are doing much of the same on his keyboard—writing words that will never see the light of day. He thinks of goofy smiles, bottomless caramel macchiatos, and not much of anything else. 

_Well, at least he’s writing something other than a top ten list._

An hour or so slips by quickly, and Dan is staring back at his document that’s become an embarrassingly large number of pages when he feels a presence to his right. 

“Hey, Dan!” 

He’s quick to switch tabs, disappointed but also grateful that it isn’t Phil leaning up against the top of the bar. 

“I was gonna say hi earlier, but you looked in the zone.” Dan turns on his stool to face Charlie. Her smile obviously doesn’t do the same things for Dan as Phil’s does, but it is infectious—a grin spreading across his own face. 

“I still am,” she raises her eyebrows and tilts her head over to the table she was sitting at earlier, “fancy a reading?” 

“Oh, I don’t know…” 

“Come on! It’ll be fun, the energy is good today.” Charlie bounces on her heels. 

Dan bites at his bottom lip, he’s never done anything like this before. And, like, he didn’t believe in it so why would he say yes. But Charlie is looking at him with excited, pleading eyes. And Dan really doesn’t want to push these new friends—if that’s what he could call them, he feels like they are—away like he’s done so many times before. 

“Okay. Sure. I have no idea what any of it means though.” He shuts his laptop and slides off the stool, following Charlie and her bright orange dress that billows behind her over to her table. There’s a neatly stacked deck of cards and a few lit candles on its surface. Dan can’t help but admire the pretty design on the top card. They’re forest green with a small butterfly in each corner, in the center, there’s a colorful circle design with what looks like birds, dragonflies, and snakes in it. They’re really nothing like what Dan pictures when he thinks of Tarot. They must be a special deck, or—more likely—Dan just doesn’t know the first thing about Tarot. 

“That’s what I’m here for.” Charlie smiles, beckoning Dan to sit across from her. “Have you ever had a reading before?” 

Dan shakes his head. Charlie nods, like she somehow already knew the answer. She makes a point to look into Dan’s eyes, then down at the large deck of cards in her hands. Dan watches her movements as she splits the deck in half and presses them to the table to shuffle them. 

“I don’t think any two people read cards the same.” She passes the full deck across the table to Dan in two hands. He takes them in both of his own, because he feels like he should. He feels like she treats these cards with an energy he should respect—so he tries to emulate that energy. “Go ahead and shuffle them, like I just did.” 

The cards look smaller in Dan’s hands, but that’s just due to the fact that his hands are probably twice the size of hers. He tries to be delicate as he copies her previous action, splitting the deck in half and shuffling them. 

“Em and I are the only one’s around here who read cards. She’s got a whole different style than me. The other’s could if they wanted, but they don’t. I can even teach you how to if you want. It’s really nice to be able to do your own daily readings. And finding a deck that calls to you, that fits your energy, is therapeutic in itself.” Charlie reaches a hand across the table, putting it over Dan’s. “Keep shuffling until you feel like it’s the right time to stop.” 

“M’kay.” Dan’s lip is sucked back in between his teeth as he concentrates on shuffling, honestly not knowing what the hell it means to _feel_ when he should stop. So he keeps shuffling as Charlie tells him about Tarot. 

“So do you have a question in mind, maybe something you need clarity on? If not, we can do a general reading.”

Dan hums. He has a _lot_ of questions. One sticks out among the rest, though.

“You don’t have to tell me, just keep it in your mind as you shuffle,” Charlie instructs before Dan can properly respond.

He hums a soft, “ _Okay.”_

It has a sort of methodical feeling to it, as he shuffles the cards over and over. Charlie’s voice, the soft music overhead, and Phil’s humming from behind him lulling him into some sort of trance. He shuffles a few more times, until suddenly, he feels compelled to stop. So he does. 

“Good?” Charlie asks as Dan goes to hand the deck back. 

Dan nods. “Yeah, I think so?”

She smiles, taking the deck back. Dan just watches as she carefully lays out a row of three cards in front of him, and another right above the middle card. 

Charlie looks up at Dan and smiles, she’s got her hand over the top card, the golden polish on her nails sparkling in the light of the café. 

She flips the card over, revealing a beautiful drawing of a bright red flower with a flame at the tip and a hummingbird. Below the illustration it says: **The Fool**. Charlie is moving on to the next card before Dan can even quirk a brow. The next card is flipped, a beetle is standing atop three blue flowers, leaning against what looks like a wand made of a crystal and plants. At the bottom it reads: **Page of Wands**. The third card is flipped and it doesn’t slip past Dan that Charlie takes in a tight breath. The background of the card is a dark grey, and two vultures are perched on a tree trunk that’s caught up in flames at the top—smoke billowing out of it. There’s lightning bolts at the top of the card, and crashing waves and a thorny plant just above the text at the bottom that reads: **The Tower**. 

Charlie is staring at the cards with an intensity that tells Dan he shouldn’t interrupt, not at least until she flips the last card—even though he has so many questions. Charlie flips the fourth card. It has a bright blue background, and it’s perfectly symmetrical—the art on the previous cards is beautiful, but this one is the most pleasing to Dan. He’s drawn to it, like there’s a connection there. 

There’s no text on this card, only **II** at the very top. There are two white calla lilies on either side of the card, their stems entwined and sprouting a white and a red rose at their twisted ends. There are two bugs that look like a cross between a common house fly and a dragonfly sat on the stems in the center of the card—facing one another and looking up at the frog symbol above them. Dan barely recognizes the symbol, as he’s never seen it paired with a frog before, but it’s distinguishable—two snakes twisted up a staff, the frog at the top of the staff having wings. 

_An interesting take on the staff of Hermes, he must say._

Dan can only attribute that knowledge to his hours upon hours of late night Wikipedia scrolling. 

Charlie snorts. “Yeah, I thought so,” she hums. Dan looks up from the cards, quirking a brow at her. 

She taps a glittery nail at the top card. “This,” a few more taps, “is you.” 

Dan’s eyes flick to the words at the bottom of the card. “Excuse me?” 

Charlie laughs, it’s loud and she has to pull her hand away from the card to clutch at her stomach. 

“I’m not calling you an idiot, or well, the spirits aren’t calling you one,” she gets out once she’s collected herself. 

“It’s interesting, that this card came to you. The fool represents new beginnings, he’s at the start of his journey, stepping into the unknown. Live in the present on this journey, with the spirit of The Fool, let go of any preconceived notions that could hold you back. You don’t need to question as much as simply be.” 

Dan blinks. 

“See how the Page of Wands is reversed?” Charlie taps at the beetle on the card. “Something is holding you back, you have an energy blockage. You’re stuck on a new project and about to hit a dead end if you don’t reassess. It’s a warning,” Charlie moves her finger back up to The Fool, “Lighten up, be spontaneous, take The Fool’s energy of living in the present. Open your eyes to new things.”

Dan tries to remind himself, that much like astrology, these sweeping statements are meant to make you feel like they’re _actually_ about you and your life. There’s no way a deck of pretty cards can analyze his life, predict his future, or anything like that. It’s just a coincidence—that’s all. 

“Now, let’s talk about this.” Charlie places her hand over The Tower card. The artwork on the card unsettles Dan, now that he looks at it again. 

“The tower shouldn’t scare you, you know it’s coming now. Something is going to tilt you off your axis. It’s going to change the very way you see the world. I can see how it doesn’t have to end in storms and flames, depending on how you handle the situation. There will be change, there might be pain in that change, but that revelation will lead you into an awakening that will make it all worthwhile.” 

There’s an intense energy to Charlie’s dark eyes as she looks up at Dan. 

_Oh, so now the pretty cards were going to intimidate him?_

“I can tell,” Charlie slides her finger over to the last card, “it will be very worthwhile.” There’s a smug smile on her face and somehow, with all this information being poured into his head, that look is what his brain is focusing on. She looks like she knows something he doesn’t—and Dan doesn’t like that one bit. 

“This is the Two of Cups, Dan.” Charlie follows the stem of one of the calla lilies with her finger, stopping at the red rose. “You had a question in mind, didn’t you?” 

Dan nods, he opens and closes his mouth before turning in his chair to see how far out of ear shot Phil was. He smiles as he watches Phil interact with someone at the counter. He’s all big awkward movements, that somehow look graceful, and goofy smiles. Dan turns back to Charlie. 

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell me.” She smiles, the smug look on her face only intensifying. Dan feels read in more than one way. She winks, Dan’s red face flushes darker, and then she looks back down at the last card. 

“You have the opportunity to create a deep connection. Someone so compatible with you is in your life, and the Two of Cups wants you to listen to your heart. This bond has the ability to be so strong, beyond romance, beyond the physical—you just have to go after it. Listen to the messenger,” Charlie points at the staff, “caduceus, the staff of Hermes, messenger of the gods. Inventor of speech. Communication is important,” she slides her finger back to The Tower, “communication will help you with both of these cards dealt, I’m sure.” 

Charlie takes her hands away from the cards, sitting back in her seat. Dan might be a bit overwhelmed, he’s not quite sure what he’s feeling at the moment. It was getting harder for him to believe that these are just sweeping statements. 

“Do you have any questions?” 

_Um, yes, about a hundred of them._

After a pause of silence and knowing eye contact, Dan settles on probably the most inappropriate one. But he has to know, and he feels like Charlie can see right through him anyways. “Do you think he feels the same way?” 

“Honey, I can only tell you what the cards are saying,” Charlie says, but the glint in her eyes gives Dan that sliver of hope to cling on to. 

If Dan believes in the cards, they’re saying yes. But, they are just pretty cards. Nothing more. 

_Phil is just a pretty barista. Nothing more._

Charlie starts to pick up the cards, and Dan thanks her for the reading as he stands up. 

“Oh, and Dan?” 

Dan turns back to Charlie, she’s picked up all of the cards except for The Fool. She points at it. “A lot of people associate owls with magic, because, well _you know-_ ” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “But I think the hummingbird is the most magical bird. Don’t you?” 

Confusion passes over Dan’s face as he contemplates what Charlie is saying. He doesn’t know what constitutes _a magical bird_ , but hummingbirds are _pretty_ , a bit uncommon around here—Dan doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever seen one. There’s a level of wonder around them. 

“Yeah, I can see that.” 

Charlie grins. “Thank you for letting me read you. I really enjoyed it. It’s nice having you around here.” She’s looking back down at her cards now, sliding them back into their little box. The bell at the door chimes behind him. 

“Yeah, I’m glad I found this place.” Dan’s voice is as sincere as his heart feels. 

“Hey kids! Playing cards without me?” There’s a hand at Dan’s back as PJ steps up beside him. 

“Peej, I am _not_ giving you a reading after last time—you can’t just make a mockery of Tarot by trying to turn it into one of your card games.” Charlie huffs, leaning forward to blow out the candles on the table with an irritated breath, mumbling something about how you can’t add damage and attack points to Tarot. 

“Oh! Card games!” PJ pulls a deck of cards from his pocket and tosses it back and forth in his hands. “Do you want to see a card trick, Dan?” 

Dan doesn’t have nearly enough energy to match whatever the _hell_ was going on with the man next to him, but he can’t help but enjoy how easily Phil’s supposed best friend was including him in all of it. 

“PJ… no.” Charlie warns. 

“Sure, why not?” Dan shrugs. 

PJ grins and taps the deck of cards out of their sleeve, shuffling them, then fanning them out in front of Dan. “Pick a card, any card,” he says in an exaggerated American— _New York?—_ accent. Dan rolls his eyes, but humors him, sliding a card out of the fan. 

“Okay, don’t show me!” 

Dan nods, looking down at his card. It’s the eight of spades. 

“You keep that, free gift, just for you!” PJ grins as Dan tries to slide the card back into the deck, assuming this was one of those tricks where PJ will pick his card back out of it by some sleight of hand trick. Dan holds the card in his hand with a questioning look on his face. 

“Alright.” PJ looks down at the deck in concentration as he shuffles it again in his hands. Dan tracks his movements, always trying to ruin the magic for himself with his attempts to spot the mechanics of the trick. He doesn’t think he catches it by the time PJ straightens the deck out in his hands and looks up at Dan expectantly. 

In one swift movement, PJ fans the deck out on the table beside them, suits facing down, then flicks the last card of the line so they all flip over in a domino effect. 

Dan is… stunned. 

“Is this your card?” the accent comes back as PJ wiggles his fingers towards the table. His smile is as sly as his voice. 

The entire deck of cards, every single card, is an eight of spades. Dan goes to look at the card he was holding on to—the one PJ wouldn’t take back—but it’s no longer in his hand. 

“What the fuck?” Dan stares at the line of cards. He reaches forward to run his hand along them all to rule out that they weren’t like, a hologram. “ _How_ the fuck?” He looks back up at PJ with wide eyes. 

“A magician never tells his secrets.” PJ is clearly holding in laughter, Dan feels like a child. 

“PJ stop harassing my customers!” Phil calls from the other side of the room. 

“Oh, I wasn’t aware that Dan was a customer,” PJ quips back, winking at Dan. 

_Why was everyone doing that?_

There’s a splutter from Phil and Dan turns to the counter to see a, _very much,_ blushing Phil glaring daggers at PJ. 

_Why did he have to be so fucking cute?_

“‘Course he is,” Phil says in a small voice. “Besides, don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” Phil squints his eyes even more, lifting his chin with the question. 

“Don’t you have my green tea?” PJ asks, mocking Phil’s slightly northern lilt. There’s a few clangs of metal as Phil leans to the side, not breaking his and PJ’s eye contact as he reaches an arm behind the espresso machine and retrieves a large paper coffee cup. 

“Obviously.” Phil rolls his eyes and PJ pats Dan’s shoulder as he bounces past him up to the front, retrieving his tea from Phil, and making his way back out the door in what feels like all of three seconds. 

“Sorry, he’s weird.” Phil turns his head from the door to Dan, his eyes are now bright and wide. It makes Dan’s tummy feel a bit funny. 

“I like weird.”

“Oh.” Phil smiles. “Good to know.” 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Dan sighs dramatically. “I’m never gonna know how he did that trick, am I?”

Charlie barks out a laugh at the same time as Phil hums a, “Maybe I can show you one day.” 

Dan tries to harness his bravery. He thinks of the Two of Cups. 

“Hey.” He makes his way across the room. Towards Phil—always towards Phil, it seems. “You’re into gaming?” Dan points at Phil’s SEGA shirt. 

Phil’s face lights up. “I _love_ games!” He leans up against the counter at the same time that Dan presses himself to the opposite side. “Video games, board games, all of the games.” 

Dan grins, desperately trying to school his expression so the way his heart is pounding in his chest doesn’t come across it. 

“You know, I’ve got Mario Kart and a best mate that refuses to play me because I spend all my free time playing competitively online. If you’re up for a challenge?” Dan raises a brow with the question. It comes out far more casual than he feels. Dan is thankful for that. 

The smile on Phil’s face grows. Dan is also thankful for that. 

“Name a time and place and I’ll be taking you down.” 

_Oh, how Dan would love that._

Dan bites at his lip. “Tomorrow? After book club?” His voice is much smaller, unsure. “My place? I’m like, exceptionally good at calling for takeout.” Dan huffs out a nervous laugh. 

Phil’s reply comes instantly.

“Sounds perfect.” 

After Dan collects his things, he passes by the front counter to stuff a few pounds in Phil’s tip jar. 

“See you tomorrow, Dan.” Phil smiles, shaking his head as Dan gets away with tipping him for his _technically free_ coffee once again. 

Dan holds two fingers to his temple, saluting with a wink and a wide grin. 

Phil is coming to his house tomorrow night. 

_Holy shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like it goes without saying that my knowledge of Tarot is limited and I like _actually_ sat down and probably did like... four hours of research just to write that little bit in there so yeah, sorry if I was like, wildly incorrect or something. Charlie's Tarot is based off a deck I've seen called "Natures Spirit Tarot", they're so beautiful and they really encapsulate Charlie's vibe she just really loves birbs and I can respect that. As always [here's](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0biHc1ZQYSyoNVF3fwjJ5A?si=m1WgmyQSSbKJ8pEeLz2yNQ) the playlist - feel free to shuffle away or if ya want this chapter's songs start with Rhiannon!  
> Big big love and thanks to Kelly for Dan's listicle title, Impractical Magic is truly a group effort at this point.


	5. Chapter 5

_This is not a date._

_Right?_

_Or is it?_

_No, definitely not._

_It’s just two dudes, being mates, hanging out,_ Dan reminds himself as he hoovers every inch of his flat. It’s practically spotless at this point, Dan having woken up early to spend the morning cleaning his entire flat. His early wake up call being partly due to his new earlier routine of going to Witch’s Brew to work, but mostly due to the panic that stirred within him the second he woke up. 

Because Phil is coming over tonight. 

For a _not-date_ date. 

The dishes that have been piling up in his sink are now squeaky clean and put away. Every bit of clutter taking over Dan’s shelves, counters, and coffee table is now more organized—everything put back in their rightful places. He’s got his favorite candle going in the living room, making the room smell very _Dan—_ a spicy, woodsy scent that’s toeing the line of smelling too much like musky men’s cologne. Dan also has a window cracked open, the early spring breeze still has a bite of a chill to it, but it’s airing out the whole _recluse writer who prefers to spend his time holed up in his house with the shades drawn_ vibes of his flat. 

Once the floors and Dan’s few plush area rugs have been sufficiently cleaned of all of his late night snack crumbs, he’s folding the seven fuzzy blankets that keep permanent residence on his sofa. He decides to shove all but two into his linen closet—Phil doesn’t need to know just yet how often Dan burrows himself into a sofa blanket cave. With that, he fluffs the pillows and cushions of the sofa, desperately trying to hide the existence of the crease that has formed from aforementioned sofa blanket cave moments. 

Dan even has freshly washed bedding on his bed, _for god knows what reason_. He knows Phil probably won’t be stepping a foot into his room besides _maybe_ a tour, but hell if Dan wouldn’t put that energy out into the world regardless. 

_Just two dudes, playing games together, that’s all it is._

By lunchtime, Dan decides to play the _not completely desperate_ move and stays home to do some work admin, making himself a sandwich and scrolling through his email—adding more crumbs to his sofa that he just meticulously cleaned. 

If after an hour of responding to emails and starting a new listicle Dan opens Spotify and starts up a Fleetwood Mac playlist to play on his bluetooth speakers, _well,_ no one has to know. Maybe he’s starting to associate the music with productivity or something—that’s it. Because it definitely isn’t his own personal music taste. 

Half of his time is spent working, the other half daydreaming, and by the time the afternoon is creeping towards night, Dan’s changed out of his cozy house clothes and into jeans and a striped jumper. He doesn’t think it’s cold enough outside to warrant another layer, but his black denim jacket is hanging on the back of his desk chair—small pride pin still attached to the front pocket—so he throws it on. It just feels right, and maybe for some reason Dan still thinks he has something to prove with this group of people—though there’s a part of his brain that reminds him how easily they’ve accepted him. 

He absolutely ignores the part of his brain that reminds him that they have probably all read his book, or were currently reading his book. He has enough to worry about having Phil over later. He can’t fret about both at once. 

He clicks on the fairy lights in his room, and then the string that’s in his lounge—so they don’t return to a completely dark flat—before blowing out the candle that’s still burning on top of his small book-shelf. 

He mostly reads on his computer or Kindle nowadays, something about saving space and the environment, but he still has a fondness for physical objects he can hold in his hands. So he has the small three shelf book-shelf by his TV stuffed full of all of his absolute favorites that he can’t imagine not owning. His own sits atop it, beside a few candles, a dying succulent terrarium, and a stack of programs from West End shows. 

He crouches down in front of the shelves, running a finger along the alphabetically sorted spines until he hits every book he’s looking for. One would think he’d have about fifty books in his hands after deciding to bring his favorite novels with queer themes or by queer authors with him, but he narrows it down to just five—shoving them in one of his tote bags hanging by his front door before leaving. 

He isn’t sure if the group would even want his recommendations, or if they’ve read all of his favorites already, but he wants to share, bring something to the table so he doesn’t feel as much like an outsider. And if it brings the attention off of them dissecting his own book, well, that’s just a bonus.

He refuses to think about the fact that he won’t be returning alone later as he locks his door. 

The bell chimes and Phil’s soft giggle accompanies it. Dan feels like he’s floating. He doesn’t know if it’s from all the praise, the group being excited about his recommendations, or just from his proximity to Phil. 

“Here, let me take that.” He grabs at the box of freshly made doughnuts— _because of course they’re fresh, homemade donuts—_ that Phil is teetering in his arms as he pats his pockets for the shop keys. 

“Thanks,” Phil says with a smile that makes Dan almost drop the box to the pavement. 

_He really needs to get it together._

Everyone else is long gone, Dan obviously staying back with Phil as he made quick work of closing down the shop. Before they exited, Phil grabbed the box of doughnuts from behind the counter—with a smile that revealed just how chuffed with himself he was for managing to keep them hidden away from the group that absolutely devoured the other dozen that were set out. Dan’s still not sure if the funny feeling in his chest is from the gesture or just Phil in general. 

_Probably both._

“Okay, lead the way!” Phil turns in the opposite direction of the tube station after locking up. 

Dan huffs out a fond laugh. “It’s this way.” He tugs at Phil’s shoulder with his free hand and he turns easily. Dan doesn’t want to pull his hand away, but he does, and they set off to Dan’s flat. 

It’s definitely gotten colder since the sun went down, and Dan notices how Phil has his arms crossed as they walk down the street. In the light of the café, Dan had enjoyed Phil’s grey tee shirt and the way it stretches across his broad shoulders and hugs his biceps. Not to mention all of the freckles dotted all over his arms—Dan counted them all. But Phil is clearly cold now, so before Dan can think twice about it, he’s pulling his arms out of his jacket, juggling the box of doughnuts from hand to hand as he tugs it off.

“Here,” Dan hums slinging the jacket over Phil’s shoulders. Phil stops walking for a moment, looking at Dan with wide eyes and an even wider smile. Dan can, _honest to god_ , feel his heart doing somersaults in his chest the second Phil’s eyes crinkle and he hugs Dan’s jacket closer to him. 

_Fuuuuuuuuck._

He gives Phil’s shoulder a light squeeze before looking straight ahead again, the two of them walking in a comfortable silence to the Underground. 

They bump shoulders on the tube, choosing to sit close together in a spot that really should be for one person in lieu of standing. Phil leans in close to tap at Dan’s phone, adding way too many toppings to the pizza that’s currently displayed on the Domino's app. He’s giggling into Dan’s ear after every, “ _R_ _eally, Phil?”_ from Dan, and again when Dan adds two of every dip to the order. Dan’s shoulder feels like it’s on fire. He’s suddenly sending apologies to every author he’s ever rolled his eyes at for writing as though there’s an electric current between two characters in a romance. He always thought it was a load of garbage, but he feels it now. 

And, _fuck,_ Phil smells so good Dan feels dizzy with it. It’s a good thing they’re sitting down, Dan doesn’t think his legs can keep him upright even if he tries. 

At this point, Dan can’t seem to keep up his internal reminders that this isn’t a date, he’s too far gone. He’s aware that he barely knows him, but sitting next to Phil while arguing over pizza toppings just feels _so_ incredibly easy. 

_He really needs to stop thinking like this._

_Not a date._

_Just two dudes, hanging out._

_Mates, playing games._

He repeats those words in his head as he unlocks his apartment, Phil commenting beside him about the neighborhood Dan lives in. Once Dan pushes the door open, he’s quick to take the now leaning tower of pizza boxes, the doughnut box, and the Domino’s bag of sides from him. 

“House, Phil. Phil, house.” Dan gestures between his living room and Phil. Phil snorts, toeing off his shoes while Dan makes his way across the room to drop their food on his coffee table. Someone cares about all the cleaning Dan did this morning, and it isn’t Dan, apparently. 

“Shit, I forgot to close the window,” Dan curses as a particularly cold gust of wind blows through the flat. It’s slammed shut quickly, “Sorry,” but the damage was pretty much done. It’s absolutely frigid in Dan’s flat. 

“Fuck. Sorry, this is an old building it’s gonna take a while for the heating to click on.” He tries to calm his internal panic as he all but runs over to the thermostat, cranking it up to a probably way too toasty setting. He guesses it’s just all too typical of himself, going to great lengths to make his flat tidy and inviting just to accidentally fuck it up in the end. 

“It’s alright, Dan,” Phil says as Dan turns back to him. There’s a smile on his face that seems genuine, but Dan can’t let anything mess this up. 

“It’s so not, let me go get you a jumper.” 

“N-”

“Yes. I _know_ how scratchy and uncomfortable that jacket is after a while and I cannot beat your ass in Mario Kart if you are not comfy and warm, that would just be unfair.” 

Phil just chuckles, holding his hands up, “Okay, okay.” 

Dan nods towards the sofa as he heads down the hall. “Give me a minute, make yourself at home.” 

Dan comes back down the hall a few minutes later with his black sweater that has the white grid pattern on it in his hands. It was either this, the white on black version of the jumper he is currently wearing, or his long long-sleeved shirt that says “ _sexual fantasies”_ down the arm—he probably should’ve prioritized his actual laundry over washing his sheets. This one was the safest bet, although Dan might have a few things to say about Phil and sexual fantasies. 

His face is already red from thoughts he _definitely_ should not be having, but it only gets redder as he turns back into the lounge and sees how Phil has taken his words completely seriously. 

Dan has half a mind to say it’s love he feels in his heart, looking at Phil on his sofa—Dan’s jacket neatly folded and slung over the arm of the sofa, Phil fully wrapped up in Dan’s brown furry blanket. 

He has the box of doughnuts open on the table in front of him, biting into the one in his hand. 

“Did your mum ever teach you to not spoil your dinner?” Dan jokes. 

“Maybe,” Phil scrunches up his nose, “but I never learned. Besides, you had some earlier, you’re no better than me.” His big toothy grin returns. There’s a bit of chocolate on his bottom lip. Dan kind of wants to lick it off. 

_Friends,_ his mind supplies. Dan kind of wants to roll his eyes at his own damn self. 

He doesn’t, of course, smiling at Phil instead. He tosses the jumper at him.

“Thank you.” 

“It’s the least I can do bringing you back to a flat the temperature of the Arctic.” 

Phil rolls his eyes before unwrapping himself from Dan’s blanket. “It’s not that cold in here.” 

Dan’s head shake is abruptly stopped by the sight of Phil pulling his jumper over his head. Dan is, truly, not making his inner turmoil and raging crush any better by putting Phil in his clothes. 

“Can I get you a drink? Water, Ribena, I probably have a bottle of wine somewhere?”

Phil’s head pops out of Dan’s jumper. “Whatever you’re having.” He smiles. Dan’s heart is goo in his chest. 

Once Dan is back with two glasses of Ribena, he joins Phil on the sofa. He puts a considerable distance between them, as weird as he is in his own thoughts he’s at least _trying_ to play it cool. But he still feels that magnetic pull towards Phil—he guesses it’s something he’s going to have to keep resisting. Phil has Dan’s blanket wrapped around his shoulders and Dan grabs the other one off the back of the sofa and covers his lap with it. If he had the courage to just… lean three inches to the side and rest his head on Phil’s shoulder he would be at peak comfort. 

But he doesn’t. He leans forward instead, opening the pizza box to Phil’s topping filled monstrosity. 

“I swear it’s good!” Phil says as he grabs a slice. 

“I’ll just have to trust your tastes.” Dan grabs the bag and digs through the boxes of potato wedges and chicken strips. He frowns. _No_ , he full on pouts. 

“They forgot the dips.” Dan’s lip is borderline wobbly as he whines. _What is the meaning of life, if not consuming dips with every meal?_

Phil makes a confused noise beside him, then hands are grabbing at the plastic bag. “I don’t think they did, you ordered so many how could they forget?” 

“Please don’t mock me right now, I’m in a state of mourning.” Dan dramatically leans back against the sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose as he contemplates a life in which he really has to eat pizza without dipping it in ranch and barbecue sauce. 

_Oh no, and the wedges? No one should eat potato wedges without a proper dip!_

“No, Dan, see,” Phil bumps his shoulder against Dan’s, “they didn’t forget them.” 

Dan cracks open an eye to see Phil waving a third box, one that Dan swears was not in that bag seconds before. Phil pops the lid off, revealing fourteen little glorious pots of Domino’s dips. 

_Sweet heaven._

“Oh, I could kiss you!” Dan realizes what he’s said seconds after leaving his mouth. He flushes a shade of red that’s truly never been seen on the human face before. “Uh, I mean, I um… have no idea how I missed that box.” 

Phil just giggles beside him, and when Dan musters up the courage to look back at Phil, there’s a lovely shade of pink high up on Phil’s cheeks. 

_Maybe… Maybe not just friends?_

Dan squashes down the thought as quickly as it comes. 

“Okay, we can eat now.” Dan takes the container of dips from Phil. 

“What do you mean?” Phil says cheekily, leaning forward for another slice of pizza. “ _I_ have been eating already.” 

“Truly disgusting you can eat pizza without dips.” 

“Truly disgusting you’re going to dip this in all of that.” Phil gestures towards the row of dips Dan is currently peeling the lids off of. 

Dan shakes his head. “Try this,” he snatches the slice of pizza from Phil’s hand and gives it a generous dunk in the garlic sauce, “it’ll change your life.” He goes to hand the slice back to Phil, but Phil just raises a brow. A challenge. 

Little does he know, or maybe he does—Dan isn’t exactly subtle—Dan is completely whipped for him and he will _absolutely_ hand feed him pizza. 

As he brings the slice to Phil’s lips, he might be dripping garlic sauce on his blanket, there’s definitely some dripping on Phil- _Dan’s_ jumper, but he could not care less. Not with the way Phil is looking at him. The electricity is so charged, Dan swears the slice of pizza in his hand is heating up from it. 

_But that would be ridiculous, right?_

Once Dan pulls away, Phil chewing on the bite of pizza he just fed him, the charged energy between them lessens, but doesn’t fizzle away altogether as they eat and chat. Dan learns that they have a lot of common interests—in games, films, books, you name it. Phil sheepishly admits to being a bit of an introvert, not straying away from his group of friends, and Dan reassures him that he’s much of the same. They share playful banter and so much laughter that Dan’s stomach actually starts to hurt—both of them insisting that they will be beating the other’s ass in Mario Kart. 

Of course, when the pizza grease is wiped off of their fingers, Dan wipes the floor with Phil at Mario Kart. Unsurprising to Dan, _very_ surprising to Phil. Phil, who keeps almost biting Dan’s blue joy-con out of frustration. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, bub, I pretty much play fourteen year olds online like it’s my job.” 

“I thought you were a writer,” Phil wines. The cuteness of it all almost throws Dan off his game. 

“Exactly,” Dan huffs as he hits Phil with a blue shell and slides across the finish line first by a hair. 

“Ugh!” Phil falls backwards onto the sofa from where he was perched on the very edge, Dan’s Switch controller falling to the floor. Dan only cringes the slightest bit at the sound of plastic against wood—Phil is far too adorable, he could probably bite and break a hundred of Dan’s joy-cons before he got mad. “You’re _too_ good. It’s suspicious.” 

“You’re suspicious.” 

“Your mum’s suspicious.” 

“Karen is a lovely woman, thank you very much.” 

Phil snorts. He’s leaning back against the arm of Dan’s sofa, his arm slung over his forehead. His tongue is poking out of his mouth as he giggles and Dan’s ready to get down on one knee. Or both of them.

_Either outcome, he wouldn’t mind either way. Maybe even both, Dan’s down for that._

“I can put on a movie, if you want to take a break from me absolutely murdering you.” Dan teases. Phil sighs dramatically. “Unless, it’s getting late… if you need to go?” he adds in a smaller, less sarcastic voice. 

Phil shuffles back up against the back of the sofa, pulling Dan’s blanket around him tighter. He’s completely enveloped in it at this point. 

_Is it strange to be jealous of a blanket?_

Phil lets out a sigh that sounds more soft, more content. He looks so snuggly and warm, Dan’s heart feels like it’s actually breaking from the softness. “A film would be perfect.” Phil smiles. 

The last few things Dan remembers, before his eyes start to get heavy, is putting on one of the first titles on the Netflix homepage and copying Phil’s position on the other side of the sofa—their feet tangling together in the middle. Dan has never felt so warm. 

Dan wakes the next morning, expecting to be scrunched up into the sofa—remembering how he fell asleep last night before even opening his eyes. But as he shifts he’s suspiciously comfortable, and his back only pops and cracks twice. He stretches out, and is able to roll further than he would have if he were on his sofa. 

He was in bed. 

He doesn’t remember getting up and getting into bed. He can only remember drifting off to some sub-par Netflix original, Phil’s foot hooked around his ankle. 

_Phil’s foot hooked around his ankle._

Dan’s eyes shoot open. He doesn’t know if he’s disappointed or relieved when there’s no one else in bed with him. The pillow next to his own is still perfectly fluffed, no sign of anyone but Dan sleeping here last night. 

And he’s not naked, he notes, groaning when he realizes he’s still in his jeans. He slept in freshly washed sheets in his street clothes like an absolute _heathen_. He had to have slept walked himself to bed last night. The lack of memory of how he got into bed, his disgusting pizza tasting morning breath mouth, and the fact that he didn’t even get into pajamas only fueled that theory. So is Phil still here? Did he leave last night? 

Is he currently sleeping on Dan’s sofa? 

Dan darts out of bed faster than he ever has before, walking as quickly as he can down his hallway to the lounge while still in the _just woke up_ morning haze. He peeks his head around the corner when he gets to the end of the hall. 

_Okay, no Phil on the sofa._

Dan barely notices the perfectly clean coffee table—the evidence of last night’s feast cleared away. He doesn’t remember doing that either, he must’ve been really tired. He sighs, deciding to at least make a cup of coffee since he’s up. He unbuttons and steps out of his jeans first, his legs finally breathing as he kicks them off right in the middle of the lounge. Before heading towards the kitchen, he grabs one of the blankets on his sofa and wraps it around his shoulders like a cape—an all too common stylistic choice in the _Daniel Howell House-wear Collection._

When he pads into the kitchen, his eyes instantly catch the Witch’s Brew box on his counter. 

_There’s that feeling in his heart again._

He grabs a mug out of his cabinet and sets coffee to brew, only turning back to the box of doughnuts once there’s a steady drip of coffee into the pot. It’s only when he sees the note, written on a little white sticky note from the pad on Dan’s fridge, on the top of the box that he fully wakes up. There’s a distinct _Phil_ smell still clinging on to the blanket wrapped around Dan’s shoulders. The added smell of fresh coffee brewing is almost mocking him. He pulls the blanket tighter and smiles as he leans over the counter to read the note. 

Written in a shimmery blue pen—Dan definitely doesn’t think he owns glitter gel pens, but he doesn’t think much of it—is the note: 

_Good morning Dan,_

_Not sure when we fell asleep, but when I woke at 3 I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. Thank you for such a fun night. I think we could be the best of friends._

_xx_

_Phil_

_P.S Don’t worry I locked the door behind me._

_P.P.S Left donuts for you!_

_P.P.P.S Here’s a picture of a dog_

True to Phil’s words, under the final line of writing is Phil’s glittery blue rendition of a dog’s head. It honestly looks just above a five year old’s artistic ability, but it’s cute, Dan would hang it on the fridge with pride. So he does. 

As he leans against his counter, sipping coffee and eating doughnuts with little star and moon sprinkles on them, he thinks of last night and Phil. Dan knows more about Phil now, enough to confidently say they are becoming good friends, but something tells him he’s barely even cracked at the surface of the very tippy top of the iceberg that is Phil. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone can have little a bonus chapter! [Playlist here!!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0biHc1ZQYSyoNVF3fwjJ5A?si=-r-U1nwRQvmFKKJaDGIsBg)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! pls note the rating change, now that i've got most of this story planned out i have more of an idea where to take it! if explicit sexual content isn't your thing it's def skippable, this chapter is v mild and i'll make sure to give a quick heads up for future chapters as well! always feel free to drop me a dm or something if u have qs/concerns/whatever!

Phil is holding Dan’s hand. It’s soft and warm, everything Dan has always wanted. They’re walking down a cobblestone path, the sun peeking through the tall buildings surrounding them is warm on Dan’s face. Everything feels warm. He’s not sure where they are, but Phil is humming a soft tune as he swings their hands between them. Dan sighs, content, and turns his head to look at Phil’s face. 

His alarm blares. 

_It’s embarrassing enough that he spaces out and daydreams about Phil while he’s working, now he’s in his dreams?_

Dan groans, patting his hand around the other side of the bed for his phone. He doesn’t remember setting an alarm, he doesn’t even need to be up at any specific time today. He blindly taps at the screen a few times and the alarm stops. 

_Blissful silence._

He snuggles back into his soft sheets, hoping for a few more hours of sleep. Of _warm, happy dreams._

Dan’s not even a second into dreamland when his alarm goes off again. He’s rolling back over, cursing the snooze feature that really shouldn’t exist when he finally realizes the tune blaring in his ear isn’t his alarm, but his ringtone. 

He doesn’t even need to look at the screen to know who’s calling. 

“I am _asleep,”_ he groans into the phone, using his hand that isn’t holding it to his ear to rub at his tired eyes. 

“ _Daniel Howell_ ,” his best mate’s, very unamused, voice is in his ear. 

“Hi Bry.” 

“Don’t you _hi Bry_ me! Where the _hell_ have you been?” The tone of Bryony’s voice is definitely lacking the joking teasing that he’s used to. He racks his brain to remember the last time he actually responded to one of her messages. 

_Bad friend Dan alert._

Dan stalls. He doesn’t want to lie, but he also doesn’t want to tell the truth. 

“Working.” 

“Oh, piss off.” 

“I’m serious!”

“So you’re dodging my texts and calls, and you weren’t at home yesterday, because you were _working?_ ” He can hear her raised eyebrow and her pointed look in her voice. Dan knew he couldn’t get away with lying to Bryony, he never could. 

“You came by yesterday?” 

“Yeah, as one does when their best friend ignores them for a week straight.” She’s definitely pissed and Dan feels bad. She should be more than aware that Dan can be a shit friend sometimes, though, this is to be expected with him. After the fifteenth time she’s witnessed him locking himself up in his flat, ignoring the outside world—and in turn, his best friend—to write, he thought she would be less mad about it. But that’s really no excuse, especially since that wasn’t _exactly_ what’s been going on the past couple of weeks. 

“I’m sorry B. I’ve just been… busy.” He sighs, hoping he sounds as apologetic as he feels.

“At least you’re alive,” Bryony jokes. The frown on Dan’s face tugs up into a smile. “Getting book two done, eh?” 

Dan sighs, not wanting to lie again, but not wanting to explain. “You can say that.” 

“You finally take my advice and accept that office at your publisher’s?” 

“No,” Dan groans, “you know that’s not my style.” 

Bryony hums, Dan can hear her suspicion. “So where were you yesterday afternoon?” 

“What? A man can’t go get groceries without an interrogation?” Another lie. 

“Oh, sure, mister _I’ve gotten my shopping delivered for the past five and a half years.”_ Dan can hear her eye roll over the phone. 

“Alright, okay,” Dan huffs. “I found a nice little café a few weeks ago that I like to go work at sometimes.” 

“Oh so you _are_ taking my advice!” 

“Oi, don’t sound so smug about it.” 

“I’m just glad you’re getting out, Daniel.” 

“Stop it, you sound like my mum.” 

Bry lets out a smug chuckle. “Am I not?” 

“Shut up.” Dan laughs. 

“Soooo, when are you going to grace me with your presence again? Or do I have to schedule a meeting with your assistant?” 

“I don’t have an assistant.” Dan rolls his eyes. 

“Maybe you should.” 

Dan groans, but he’s got a smile on his face. 

Once he’s off the phone, half an hour later, he’s got plans for Bryony to join him at the crafts night next week at Witch’s Brew—the one that the book club group has been telling him about the past two weeks of meetings. 

Dan’s been dipping his toes into the idea of going to more than just book club. It’s probably silly— _definitely desperate—_ to be finding more reasons to go to the coffee shop when he already spends so much time there, but he likes it. And, unless he’s getting completely mixed signals, Phil likes that he’s become a regular as well. 

Last week, Phil asked if he wanted to stick around as Dan was tucked up in a chair by the fire, reading one of the books off of Phil’s shelves. And that was the first time Dan attended a night meeting that wasn’t book club. He finally learned what cleansing nights are, heading home that night with an inexplicably clear head—still smelling sage and eucalyptus strong in his nostrils. He still has to ask River what the bundles of herbs were that they used, Dan wasn’t paying much attention—maybe he was staring at Phil—and he would like to recreate those cleansing vibes in his own home. Maybe he would even buy some crystals. There are a lot of things in Dan’s life now that he would have laughed at just a few weeks ago. 

It’s harder to keep track of names and faces at the non-book club nights though, with many new people, Dan missing the familiar name tags with little Em doodles. He’s starting quite the collection of them now, sticking them onto the side of his fridge as he gets home from book club meetings, his name between various stars and moons, one of them even has a watering can, pouring water onto his name. He didn’t quite get that one at first, he lets Em draw whatever she pleases every week, until he saw Phil’s name tag. A garden surrounded his name. 

His _thing_ always seems to complement Phil’s _thing._ He doesn’t comment on it, he doesn’t want it to stop, he just appreciates it. 

In branching out to beyond just Wednesday nights, Dan learns that game night actually means Dungeons and Dragons and not Quidditch. He was delighted to hear this, loving creative tabletop games, but the second he inquired about it more he was shut down. Apparently it is invite only and _apparently_ PJ is the Dungeon Master, so Phil has no pull. 

It doesn’t make Dan feel _too_ left out though, PJ quickly adding a “ _yet”_ to the end of his “ _You’re not allowed.”_ He still isn’t sure what that meant, but it gives him the bit of hope that he could maybe become a real member of their little group. He feels like he’s making fast friends with them all, especially Phil. They haven’t hung out outside of the café since their _not date_ pizza and Mario Kart date, but Dan lingers longer at the front counter, Phil stops by Dan’s spot in the shop more frequently, and the blue and burgundy chairs seem to always be pushed close together on Wednesday nights. 

They’re mates. Phil even calls them _friends_. The word both warms and tugs at his heart. 

There’s no event tonight, if Dan’s memory is correct—he really needs to start taking pictures of the bulletin board, or be less lazy and pull up the café’s website to check. He’s just going for his regular early afternoon coffee, and maybe he’ll hang around for a few hours as he works. 

_Maybe? Yeah, right…_

Dan’s first mistake is probably thinking about Phil while still tucked up in bed. Even the most innocent thoughts start to wander—a product of a still not fully awake brain and his very insistent morning arousal that would come regardless of what he’s thinking of. Of course it doesn’t help that what he’s thinking about is _Phil._ His second mistake is rolling out of bed, grabbing a fresh pair of pants from his dresser before heading to the bathroom. Who would seriously think that a steaming hot shower would actually kill his arousal instead of encourage it?

Dan would think _, apparently._

When he steps under the hot spray, he briefly registers that he tells his brain to reach for his shampoo. He doesn’t, grabbing at his cock instead. Dan’s already almost completely hard, one simple squeeze of the tip on an upstroke getting him there. He tells himself that it’s just morning wood as he plants his palm that isn’t fisting over his cock against the cool tile of the shower, his forehead going with it—but he thinks of pale skin and broad shoulders. Blue eyes. Hips swaying to Fleetwood Mac. 

“ _Fuck,”_ he hisses. 

There’s a pang of guilt as he thinks of Phil—thinks of Phil’s soft hands instead of his, Phil underneath him, on top of him—but he’s too horny, too far gone, to let it develop. Dan’s fully chanting Phil’s name under his breath as he speeds his movements, never more thankful to be living alone—he can deal with the internal shame later. Right now, all he can think about is how _warm_ he feels, how _good_ he feels, and how much better it would be with Phil’s lips on his neck. 

He comes over his fist and against the tiles with that thought on his mind, Phil’s name on his lips. 

He doesn’t let the shame win as he wipes at the wall and rinses his hand under the stream of water, too blissed out to care. He turns to let the water run over his head, finally reaching for his shampoo to wash his hair. 

Dan’s hair is still a bit damp from his shower, but London has been warming up so he doesn’t think it’ll freeze if he leaves with it still wet. Maybe it’s the laziness, maybe it’s because he knows his curls look nicer, less frizzy, when they air dry.

Before he leaves, he stops by his book-shelf. The terrarium is looking better, he notes as he grabs his copy of his book—it’s brighter, greener, the crispy edges of his succulents have come back to life. He doesn’t think much of it—maybe it’s the change in season finally being reflected in the weather that’s revived them—as he shoves his book in his bag and makes his way out the door. 

He thinks that perhaps a reread of his book, something he hasn’t done in quite some time, will get the juices flowing again. He’s been writing a lot lately for his side jobs that bring in money while he’s working on bigger projects, and for himself. But for book number two, well, the only progress he makes is deciding that he probably will never write another poem again. 

_Maybe he’s being dramatic. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he’s right to be dramatic._

When Dan gets to Witch’s Brew, he gets his “ _Dan! Good afternoon!”,_ a caramel macchiato, and his favorite spot by the fire. He pulls his notebook, a pen, and his book out of his bag and curls up in the chair. A last ditch effort to get back into whatever productive writing mindset he was in when he wrote and compiled his first book. He tries not to think of deadlines and disappointed publishers as he flicks through the pages, reading back words that almost feel foreign to him now. 

He’s only a few pages in, scribbling notes he won’t be able to read later in his notebook when Phil stops by his chair with a large pistachio muffin on a comically small plate. 

“You spoil me.” Dan smiles, leaning his head to the side, against the back of the chair. Phil’s looking back at him with his tongue poking out of his teeth. Never has Dan ever cursed being friends with someone before, but _wow_ , does he hate being _just mates_ with Phil. Especially when all he wants to do is grab the front of Phil’s pink jumper and pull him down into his space to kiss the grin right off his face. 

_With the amount of fantasizing he’s been doing, Dan should really try writing romance novels to be quite fucking honest._

He snorts at his own desperate thoughts in his head as Phil’s eye’s crinkle. 

“You deserve it, working hard all the time.” 

Dan lets out a loud, “Ha!" shaking his head. “Funny joke.” 

Phil shrugs. “I’m not joking.” He looks down at the side table and re-arranges Dan’s coffee and muffin. Dan tries not to think about Phil’s hands. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” he says to the muffin. Dan looks up and watches as his glasses start to slide down his nose. 

“It’s what I do best.” Dan chuckles, trying to push off the subject—as well as the feeling in his chest. 

“Well, you know where to find me if you need anything.” Phil looks up, tilting his head towards the front counter before stepping away. 

_Hate to see him go, love to watch him leave._

_What?_ Dan could be desperate and pine from the comfort of his own mind, that’s allowed. What shouldn’t be allowed is Phil’s long legs in those tight black jeans he’s always wearing. He picks up his steaming coffee, taking a big sip as he watches Phil make his way back behind the counter. It’s perfect, as always—Phil’s ass and his coffee. 

Dan sighs, moving from one inner turmoil to another as he dives back into his book. 

Dan nibbles at his muffin and gets three more sneaky coffee refills from Phil as he reads and takes notes. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, maybe a few hours, when he hears Phil and Quin giggling by the counter. Quin is plopping down in the chair next to him a few minutes later with his own muffin in hand. 

“How ya doin’ mate?” 

Dan smiles and closes his book, grateful for the distraction. He shrugs. “You?” 

Quin shifts in the chair until he’s sat in it sideways, his feet stretch out towards the fire, his head tilts back to look at Dan. He should look silly, upside down like this, but alas Phil only hangs out with literal models—sans Dan, he reminds himself.

“Got work in a few hours, thought I’d soak up some Phil energy.” He laughs, it’s surprisingly loud and deep for his more quiet tone of voice. 

“What do you do for work again?” Dan asks. He knows it’s not something he’s forgotten, no one’s answered that question for him before, but he’s trying to be casual. The copper highlight on Quin’s cheek shimmers as he chews his muffin. 

Quin waves his hand in the air. “S’boring, you don’t want to hear about that. How’s the book going?” 

Dan groans. “Maybe no work talk?” 

“That bad?” 

Dan nods. 

“Ah, mate.” Quin turns in his chair so he’s lounging sideways, his face, propped up by his hand, now right-side up. 

Even though Dan hasn’t had many conversations with Quin—he’s more quiet and reserved during book club, and Dan’s really good at not talking to people if they don’t talk to him—he has noticed all of his tattoos. Both of his arms are completely covered in them, but Dan hasn’t been close enough to really inspect them. 

“Is that the sparkle emoji?” Dan leans over to point at the small yellow design on the side of Quin’s hand. Quin chuckles, picking his head up to hold his hand out to Dan. 

“When you have so many, might as well get a few silly ones.” 

Dan takes the hand that’s outstretched towards him, looking at all the different designs and symbols on his hand and up his arm—some he recognizes, some he doesn’t. 

“You have any ink?” 

Dan shakes his head. “Forever grateful my parents wouldn’t let me get the _fucking angel wings_ I wanted on my back as a teen.” He cringes just thinking about it. 

“Yikes, mate.” 

Dan huffs out a laugh, tracing the vine that goes up Quin’s wrist with his index finger. “Do you have a favorite?” 

Quin smiles, sitting up properly. “You have an hour?” 

“This one’s Phil’s favorite. Though I think he’s biased,” Quin says as he turns his right arm out to expose the inside of his bicep. A portrait of a black cat with bright yellow eyes looks back at Dan. 

“Wow that’s beautiful.” Dan gawks at the cat. He’s seen so much of the incredible art on Quin’s skin over the past forty-five minutes or so, but this one is beyond gorgeous. It’s hyper-realistic, and pops right off of his skin—something Dan wouldn’t think would happen with a tattoo made up of such dark ink, but Dan also doesn’t know the first thing about tattooing. “Is that your cat?” 

Quin snorts, his eyes flicking up to the front of the store. “Nah, it’s Binx.” 

“Binx?” Dan cocks his head. 

“Phil’s cat!” It’s said like it’s the most casual thing in the world, like it’s something Dan already knows. 

He, clearly, does not. “ _Wot_?”

“Phil’s... cat?” Quin cocks his head to the side, as if Dan doesn’t understand the concept of pets. 

Dan blinks. He shouldn’t be so surprised to learn this about Phil, it’s not like they know each other incredibly well— _hell,_ Dan still doesn’t even know Phil’s last name. Yet his mouth still drops open in a perfect ‘o’ as he looks at Quin like he’s about to reveal he’s on a hidden camera prank show. 

His stare is short lasted, Dan bouncing up out of his seat. “PHIL! _You have a cat!?”_

Phil smiles from where he’s standing behind the counter. “Yep,” it’s also said so casually, Phil apparently not even registering Dan’s shock. And quite frankly, his offense at the fact that no one had yet informed him that _Phil has a cat!_

Dan voices this concern. 

“How many secrets are you hiding under that quiff of yours?” Dan narrows his eyes, stepping up to the counter. Phil’s eyes go wide, Quin barks out a laugh behind him. 

“None!” Phil says all too quickly—just how a man with many secrets would. 

Dan crosses his arms, raising a brow. 

“Okay, just the cat. Promise.” Dan’s not sure if he truly believes that, but he doesn’t dwell on it, he has a mission now. A furry mission. 

_Okay, not like that, that could be worded better._

A ‘ _meet Phil’s cat because Dan loves cats_ ’ mission. Though if anyone asks, Dan will swear up and down that he’s a dog person. 

“When can I meet the cat?” Dan asks excitedly. 

“His flat is literally upstairs,” Quin calls from the other side of the room.

“Q you are _not_ helping right now,” Phil groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Dan bounces on the balls of his feet. “So I could go see him right _now?”_ He gives Phil his best pleading expression, pulling out all the stops—his bottom lip pushed out dramatically. 

“My flat’s a mess…” 

Dan just stands there, leaning against the counter with his pouty lip and puppy dog eyes. 

Phil laughs, shaking his head. “Fine.” He tosses the towel in his hands over Dan’s shoulder. “Watch the shop while I go pick my pants up off the floor, then you can hang out with Binx.” 

Dan grins, full double dimple territory. “Yessir.” He bites his lip. And also his tongue—he doesn’t need to be quipping back that he’d like to get Phil’s pants right back on the floor. 

He settles on, “I don’t know the first thing about making coffee as good as yours though,” instead. 

“Firstly, _don’t_ call me sir,” Phil warns as he messes with the espresso machine. Dan winks at him when he looks over at him. Phil shakes his head again, pink spreading across his cheeks. “ _Secondly_ , I doubt anyone will come in, but if they do just press this.” Phil gestures at the machine and Dan leans over the counter, peering at the flashing green button on it. 

“Yes _sir.”_ Dan emphasizes his words with a cheeky grin, making his way over to the opening in the counter as Phil makes his way out. Maybe this morning’s shower has really stuck with him, he’s been a bit over the top—even for his standards. He gets a light slap on the shoulder for it. They both laugh as Quin groans from where he’s sat by the fire. 

“Oh and Dan?” Phil calls, opening the door that Dan always thought was a storage closet or a back entrance. 

“Yeah?” 

“Make sure you put a cup down under the machine before you press the button.” 

Dan rolls his eyes dramatically. “Speaking from experience?” 

Phil’s laughter echoes in the stairwell, Dan can still hear it as the door shuts softly behind him. 

“You two…” Dan looks up. Quin is shaking his head with a knowing smile on his face. 

Dan is starting to think his face will never not be a burning shade of red at this point. 

“I’m like… really obvious, aren’t I?” Dan leans against the counter—on the opposite side for once—scrunching up his nose. He doesn’t know why he’s being so open, he guesses it’s because of all the knowing smiles, winks, and less-than-subtle comments from all of Phil’s friends. 

“So is he.” Quin lifts a perfect brow. 

Dan blows air out of his nose. He looks at the little black cat figurine on the counter, he shifts it so it’s more symmetrical with all the other knick-knacks cluttering the counter. “You don’t need to humor me, I’m a big boy I can tell when I’m firmly in the friend zone.” 

“Oh mate,” Quin shakes his head, “the things you choose not to see…” He shifts in his chair, back to lounging across it, and holds his phone up to his face. Dan wants to ask, he wants more of an explanation to that statement, but Quin’s body language tells him that’s all he’s getting. So he fiddles with the little things on the counter and tries not to overthink as he waits for Phil to come back down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Playlist!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0biHc1ZQYSyoNVF3fwjJ5A?si=NX34sjh-StSlXq7NTs70-Q)  
> Also big thanks to [Kelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickiegreenleaf) for somehow dealing with my nonsense and reading this chapter over for me when it was literally in nightmare disaster mode, she is a godsend.  
> Also also look at [this art](https://twitter.com/keyequalslock/status/1220835334738644992?s=20) Mar did based on Dan's blanket caves of chapter 5...please cry with me at how soft and cozy :)


	7. Chapter 7

True to Phil’s words, no one comes in while Dan waits behind the counter. In fact, Phil takes so long “cleaning up his pants” that Quin eventually gets up to leave for work. A, “ _See ya mate,_ ” and the bell chiming above the door as he exits leaves Dan alone in the café. 

Dan debates for a while if he should make himself another coffee, but he decides against it. Though Phil seemed confident Dan wouldn’t fuck up making a coffee for a customer, Dan isn’t so sure. He instead busies himself by stepping out from behind the counter, clearing away his mug and the plates by the seats next to the fire. He carries them back over, but hesitates as he looks around the workspace. For all the staring Dan’s done, one would think he would have more of an idea how Phil cleans up. He ends up placing them in the empty sink, hoping he’s being at least a little bit useful to Phil. 

A few minutes later, Dan hears a door shut softly from above, then footsteps bouncing down stairs. The door by the end of the counter swings open. 

“No one come in?” 

Dan shakes his head. 

“I see you ran off all my customers,” Phil huffs. “Absolutely rude. Horrible behavior,” he tuts as he walks over to the front door. 

Dan snorts. “There was no one in here Phil.” 

“Exactly.” Phil clicks the lock on the door. When he turns back around to Dan, there’s a cheeky grin on his face. 

“You’re awful.” _I would like to kiss you._ Dan feels like he should be more startled by his own thoughts, but he isn’t. He feels it, so sure in his chest—maybe it’s just infatuation, maybe it’s something more. 

_Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking of his mate Phil while taking steamy showers._ Clearly it’s putting thoughts into his head. 

“You…” Phil scrunches his nose, clearly in thought, “smell.” 

Dan rolls his eyes, throwing the towel that was still slung over his shoulder at Phil’s face. Phil’s hands are up to catch it in lightning fast speed—he has surprisingly good reflexes for someone who seems so clumsy most of the time. Dan’s not sure how someone can be so _elegantly_ clumsy, yet here Phil is. 

“Good,” Phil adds with a wink. 

Dan doesn’t know how much longer he can handle the playful teasing. He wants to kiss the smirk right off of Phil’s face. But he knows he can’t, so he doesn’t. He simply stands there, holding back the whine in his throat as Phil bounces about around him, turning off all of the various machines. 

“I can’t believe I’m closing up early just so you can meet my cat.” The music overhead stops and Phil gestures for Dan to head through the open door. It’s odd, the shop being in complete silence, so Dan hurries along. 

“I can’t believe you’ve had a cat this whole time and didn’t tell me,” Dan says as he takes the steps two at a time, Phil following behind him. He hums something about it never coming up, and Dan stops in his tracks, turning around on the steps. Phil almost slams into him, but Dan is quick to grab his shoulders so they don’t topple down the stairs. “But also, you didn’t have to close up. I could’ve waited.” 

Phil grins, looking down at his feet. He shakes his head. “I wanted to spend time with you,” he says in a small voice, to his shoes. It goes right to Dan’s heart. He lets his hands fall from their light grip on Phil’s shoulders as Phil shrugs. 

Dan’s about to open his mouth when there’s a _very cute_ , _very insistent_ meow from the other side of the door. Dan’s lip wobbles as he spins around. 

“Oh my god,” he says in a small, higher pitched voice. The voice he reserves only for babies and animals. He’s quick to make it up the rest of the steps, Phil _almost_ forgotten as a small black paw pokes out from under the door at the top of the stairs. 

“Oh my god,” Dan repeats. He turns his head to Phil, he doesn’t even care that his eyes are starting to water. 

_What? Dan just really loves animals. Especially cats._

“I’m gonna die,” Dan adds and Phil just shakes his head—the grin spreading across his face is miles wide and incredibly smug. 

“Go on then, it’s unlocked.” Phil nods to the door. “I told him you were coming up, he’s excited to see you.” 

Dan does as he’s told, he doesn’t need to be asked twice, turning the handle and gently pushing open the door. There’s more insistent meows, all in succession as Dan steps through the door. He doesn’t even bother looking around Phil’s flat as there’s a small black creature weaving through his legs, still meowing. 

“ _Oh my_ _god Phil,”_ Dan gushes, not a care in the world as he plops himself down on the floor, sitting criss-cross right in front of the door so he can pet the cat. 

Phil chuckles from above him, Dan feels a hand on his shoulder as Phil steps around him to get into his own flat. It doesn’t linger, but Dan doesn’t care as he’s too busy petting and cooing at the cat in front of him. His black fur is stupidly soft, and his bright yellow eyes feel like they’re looking right into Dan’s soul—he’s the spitting image of Quin’s tattoo. 

“ _Hello."_ He scratches at Binx’s ears, the cat meows back. “Oh, you’re so good, you’re just a little tiny baby aren’t you?” Dan babbles as Binx rubs against Dan’s knees, “You’re so sweet and soft and little.” The cat starts to purr as he climbs right into Dan’s lap. Actual tears form in his eyes as Binx stretches up and boops his little nose against Dan’s. 

“Oh my goodness I love you, yes I do, you sweet little baby,” he coos. He hears Phil’s feet, as he walks around his flat—he also hears Phil giggling at him. 

“He’s usually not so friendly with strangers,” Phil interrupts Dan’s babbling, “I had a feeling he would like you though.” 

“Oh you like me?” Dan coos, still addressing the cat. “I like you, are you my new best friend ever?” The cat pushes his little face against Dan’s cheek in response. 

Dan finally tilts his head, looking up at Phil towering over him from behind. “I’m either taking him with me or I’m never going home,” he says, back in his normal Dan voice. 

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Phil mumbles under his breath. “Oh no, Dan, are you allergic? I can get you something for that,” he adds before Dan can respond to his previous statement. Dan quirks a brow, still petting Binx in his lap. 

“No?” 

“You’re crying…” Phil leans down and swipes at the tear that managed to leak out of Dan’s eye. 

“I’m not allergic,” Dan says, pouting. He looks away from Phil and back down at his lap. “I just really love cats.” 

Phil coos a small, “ _Aww,”_ and Dan can’t help the blush on his face. He buries his face in Binx’s fur to hide it. Binx just rumbles out a louder purr, soaking up all of Dan’s attention. 

“Are you hungry? Do you want me to put the kettle on?” Phil asks as he pats at Dan’s shoulder. Dan is, obviously, still sat in front of Phil’s door with Binx in his lap. 

“Phil I _just_ had one of your muffins, I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure?” Phil squeezes at Dan’s shoulder. Dan wonders if he were a cat like Binx if he would purr with the touch. He thinks he would. Phil stifles a giggle from behind him before Dan can respond. 

Dan looks up, Phil is covering his mouth with his other hand. “Do you want to take your _tiny little baby best friend_ over to the sofa and play games or watch a film?” Phil asks in a baby voice that is a very poor attempt at mocking Dan’s own. 

“Shut up.” Dan laughs, his face flushing red. 

“I’ll go put the kettle on.” Phil gives Dan’s shoulder a little shake. Dan doesn’t protest, he knows it’s kind of Phil’s thing to be hospitable. It’s cute, Dan loves it. He scoops Binx up in his arms—the cat doesn’t protest either, still rumbling a little purr—and follows Phil over to his sofa on the other side of the room. 

Dan sits down, settling the cat on his lap. Binx stretches, shifts around a bit, and then curls back up into a perfect fluffy black circle. 

Dan notices how Phil lingers out of the corner of his eye, he looks nervous, worried even, but he ducks around the corner into the kitchen before Dan can question it. He wonders why though, as he finally takes a proper look around the room, he doesn’t want Phil to ever feel hesitant around him. 

Dan leans forward when Phil is puttering about the kitchen, and hopefully out of earshot. “Your dad’s a right sweetheart, isn’t he,” he whispers before kissing between Binx’s soft ears. Binx’s purr just rumbles louder, and Dan sits back to finally take in his surroundings. 

Phil's flat is very similar to the café in that one of the walls, directly across from Dan, is made of the same weathered brick material. There’s a moderately sized flatscreen television mounted on it. As well as floating shelves full of books, and a bunch of, what looks like, golden star and moon decals dotted around the brick. And to Dan’s left is floor to ceiling glass, opening out to a small balcony. The glass door is slid open, letting in a fresh breeze, as well as brightening up the entire room. The little decals on the brick wall glitter in the sun. 

It’s a bit of an open floor plan—to Dans right, adjacent to the front door, is a half wall that opens to Phil’s kitchen. And there’s a hallway around the corner of the brick wall. Dan is nosy, but not nosy enough to get up and duck his head around the corner to see where it goes. 

Though he is nosy enough to stand up and wander around the lounge when Binx decides he’s had enough attention and jumps down from his lap. Dan follows Binx as he trots around the sofa and jumps up on a floating shelf that’s installed into the back wall. Dan’s about to scold him, tell him to get down, but he notices there’s a few more shelves spread around the wall in an interesting pattern. They all have nothing on them, _well_ , besides Binx as he jumps from ledge to ledge. Dan realizes that they’re there for him. Cat shelves. 

Dan wiggles his fingers as he passes Binx, now at eye level. Binx bats at his hand with a small paw and Dan laughs, making his way over to the balcony. His chest feels lighter as the sun from the windows hit his face. London has been unusually bright lately—Dan, surprisingly, doesn’t miss the dreary grey weather. 

The room is filled with plants, on surfaces, hanging from the ceiling, absolutely everywhere as Dan pokes around. He steps up to the glass panes, he’s centimeters away from pressing his nose to the screen of the open door as he admires the absolute _garden_ that is Phil’s balcony. It’s small, but filled to the brim with potted plants and small garden boxes. Dan has no idea how Phil could manage to step around them to actually get out on the balcony or water them. But they _do_ look very bright and well taken care of, so Phil must have a system. 

It evades Dan that the weather only just stopped feeling frosty, realistically outdoor plants shouldn’t look this alive. He’s too busy admiring the colorful flowers, herbs, and what looks like even a few vegetables to think critically. 

“Phil, you didn’t tell me you were a farmer,” Dan calls towards the kitchen. He hears a small crash, then Phil’s laughter. 

“Why play Stardew Valley when I can live it?” 

Dan snorts. “How do you even get out there?” He pulls his nose away from the screen, there’s probably little grid marks on the tip from how he was pressing against it. Phil is leaning against the little half wall that divides the kitchen from the lounge with a smirk on his face. Dan notes all the candles and a few cacti in colorful pots that line the top of the wall. 

“I have my ways.” Phil waves his hand in the air before turning around, the long hanging plants above his head swishing with the movement. Dan can’t even hate how enamored he is by Phil. 

Dan turns his focus to the floating shelves on the TV wall. He pauses, hand in the air, when he notices how _old_ and delicate the books on the first shelf look. 

_Yeah, probably shouldn’t touch those._

His hand drops to his side as he squints at the spines—on them is a language? Or symbols? Whatever it is, he doesn’t understand it, but they look cool. It’s a nice home decor touch—aesthetic, if you will.

Dan notices that the other shelves don’t contain the same books, but actually DVD box sets— _seriously, who even uses DVDs anymore? —_ and cases for various Switch and PlayStation games. There are little knick-knacks scattered about the shelves, similar to Phil’s shop, but they’re more nerdy than witchy. Dan smiles at a small Link figurine standing tall next to a goofy looking Tails. There’s a few figurines from anime he recognizes, and—he squints… 

_Is that a tiny Sarah Michelle Gellar next to Yoda?_

Dan knew Phil was a bit nerdy, but he’s absolutely buzzing at all this new Phil knowledge. He’s hot and mysterious, but he also likes Buffy the Vampire Slayer and that one incredibly gay ice skating anime that Dan only pretends not to know. 

_He’s perfect._

Phil brings in tea and more pastries and Dan scoffs at the unnecessary gesture, but his thank you is genuine. It’s then, as he’s sat back on the sofa next to Phil—Phil’s leg pressed against his own, that he realizes the distinct pistachio smell lingering in the room. Dan did notice that Phil’s flat smelled much like the coffee shop, heavy notes of sage and patchouli, but with less of the coffee. That dizzying, honey-sweet amber smell of _Phil_ peeks through a bit stronger instead. He was too busy freaking out over Phil’s cat to make much note of it, nor the lingering smell of freshly baked muffins, when he first came in. 

He guesses it makes sense, that Phil makes his own pastries—he always serves them so proudly. And that Phil makes them in his own kitchen as well. Dan has never seen any sort of oven behind the counter downstairs, and as far as he knows the door to Phil’s flat is the only extra door, so this must be his only kitchen. 

Somehow this knowledge makes his pastries taste that much sweeter. Dan grins to himself as he bites into the star shaped pastry Phil brought over. He’s not sure what it is, but the pastry is flakey and when he bites into it a tart cherry jam bursts on his tongue. He hums, _okay,_ he moans at the taste. Dan doesn’t have to turn his head to see Phil’s smug smile, he can see it perfectly reflected in the black TV screen across from him. 

Very smug _, very cute._

Dan is, honestly, on a bit of an overload of new Phil information today, and he’s absolutely not going to complain about it one bit. 

Dan takes a sip of his tea, looking at Phil. It’s the perfect temperature as always. “You know, you really don’t have to do all of this for me all the time.” He gestures towards the plate of pastries on the table.

Phil smiles, nodding his head. “I want to. I like it. It makes me happy.” He shifts, putting down his own tea on the coffee table, and turns his body completely towards Dan. Dan feels compelled to do the same, so he does. Their knees knock together as they both fold their legs. 

“Being around you makes me happy.” Dan isn’t sure why his brain let that leave his mouth, but Phil’s smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling behind his glasses. 

Dan squints, leaning forward. Phil doesn’t pull back. 

“Hey,” Dan says in a hush, “the glitter in your glasses is pink today.” It is—the tiny flecks that are typically blue catch the light of the sun and glimmer a soft pink shade. Dan feels mesmerized by it. Phil’s head is stationary, but something about the light coming in from the windows across from him make them shimmer and swirl. Dan isn’t thinking when he brings a hand up to Phil’s face, cupping his jaw as he leans closer to watch the glitter. 

“Y-yeah,” Phil says softly. His breath tickles at Dan’s nose. They’re so close. Phil’s skin is so soft against Dan’s palm. “It matches my jumper,” he adds. Dan would look down, remind himself of the soft pink jumper Phil has on, but Phil tilts his head, leaning against Dan’s hand. All Dan can think about is the weight of Phil’s head in his palm and their shared breath. 

_Is this really happening?_

“You suit pink,” Dan matches Phil’s tone, almost a whisper. 

Phil’s eyes flick down, but not far. Dan catches it and absolutely melts. 

_This is really happening._

“You think?” Phil’s pink tongue pokes out, swiping across his pink lips—all Dan can see, _feel,_ is pink. 

Dan hums and Phil’s soft smile tugs wider. By reflex, Dan licks his own lips. With the way Phil’s looking back at Dan, the panic isn’t there. Everything feels right. For once, Dan has no questions. The only thing that crosses Dan’s mind, besides the chant of _kiss Phil, kiss Phil, kiss Phil,_ is him noting that his mouth tastes like green tea and cherry jam—and, _god, he hopes Phil likes that._

Dan doesn’t know how long he stares into the blue— _and green, and yellow—_ of Phil’s eyes, but Phil stares right back. He feels warm and _seen_ , and he’s pretty sure his cheeks are the same shade of pink as the glitter in Phil’s glasses. His thumb presses against the pink of Phil’s cheek and his breath catches in his throat when Phil’s eyes flick to his lips again. 

_Fuck it._

He leans forward, letting his eyes flutter shut, but he stops as their noses bump together. That’s where his bravery ends, apparently, waiting for Phil to close the distance completely and press their lips together. 

There’s a sort of tingling at the tip of his nose where it’s pressed against Phil’s, the same feeling in his hand that’s still against his cheek—it feels like one of those plasma globes he used to play with as a child, the ones that gave him a soft zap when touched. 

_Is this how magnets feel when they’re finally stuck together?_

He waits. The tingling at the tip of his nose and the palm of his hand turn into a low, full body buzzing. He waits. 

Dan can feel it, rather than hear, as Phil sighs deeply. And then Phil’s pulling away. 

_Phil’s pulling away?_

It’s not a jerking backwards, there’s no scoffing, or telling Dan off—Phil just slowly pulls back, their noses losing contact. The tingling fizzles away. Dan opens his eyes as Phil’s hand is cupping over his own. Phil doesn’t go far, Dan can still feel his breath against his face, and he firmly holds Dan’s hand to his cheek. 

There’s about one thousand different conflicting signals and Dan understands zero of them. But there’s one thing he knows he needs to do for sure. 

“I’m sorry.” Dan’s voice is almost inaudible. 

Phil smiles, but it looks sad. It doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He’s rubbing his thumb against Dan’s hand. Dan feels his heart cracking in his chest. 

“Please can we forget I did that?” Dan bites his lip as Phil’s smile turns into a proper frown. “I thought… I don’t know. I guess I thought there was something…” He sighs. “Let’s forget I did that.” Of course Dan would find a way to fuck up this friendship with his stupid feelings, it’s _so_ incredibly Dan of him. 

“No.” Phil’s voice is still quiet, but it’s firm. It stirs even more panic in Dan’s chest—but Phil’s hand is on his and he can’t bring himself to pull away, to get out of Phil’s bubble. 

“No forgetting,” Phil hums after what feels like a full minute of silence. “I’m sorry.” 

Dan huffs. “You’re sorry?” His voice is too loud for the hush that’s fallen over them. “Why are you sorry? I’m the one that tried to ki-” 

“Dan.” Phil squeezes Dan’s hand, stopping his spiraling. Phil takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly, Dan copies him. 

“Dan, I like you,” Phil says once they’ve taken a few breaths. “You’re like…” Phil huffs out a sad sounding laugh. “You’ve become like my _best_ friend. And I know that sounds stupid since we’ve barely known-” 

“I feel like you’re my best friend, too,” Dan interrupts. “Like, I have a best mate and she’s great, and it feels like that with you too. But It feels-” 

“Different,” Phil takes the word out of Dan’s mouth. “You’re different.”

Dan sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I fucked it all up by doing that.” Dan looks down. It’s too much to look at Phil right now and he’s too close—but his hand is still smushed between Phil’s cheek and hand, and he feels like if he tries to pull it away he’ll explode. 

“Dan.” Phil hums, but Dan doesn’t look up. Phil sighs. “You didn’t fuck anything up, Dan. I _like_ you.” 

Dan looks up at that. He feels like he’s starting to get a headache above his left eye from all this confusion. Phil huffs out a laugh as they make eye contact. Phil’s eyes still look sad. Dan is _so_ confused. 

“You’re so cute, and I’ve been captivated by you since you walked into my shop.” Phil squeezes at Dan’s hand again. Dan can barely believe the words, they’re too similar to how he feels about Phil. His heart races. “But…” 

There’s always a but. Dan should know this, he should expect this. 

“But I can’t do _this_ yet.” Phil’s the one that looks down now. “It’s complicated and I don’t think I can talk about it or even begin to explain, but I’m just not ready yet.” 

_Yet._ The word echoes in Dan’s brain. He clings onto it even though he knows he shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. 

But he thinks of The Tower. It pops into his brain alongside Phil’s voice repeating “yet” over and over. The same kind of "yet" he got from PJ. Phil looks back up. His eyes look scared, but so open, as they flick between Dan’s. 

Dan’s not much of a believer. He doesn’t believe in ghosts, the supernatural, or even magic. He doesn’t put faith in astrology or a god. He’s a practical man. There’s no such thing as fate or luck—and definitely not soulmates. But he finds himself wanting to believe in _something_ as Phil looks at him with hesitation, as he holds his hand to his face as if they would crumble if it were taken away. 

_It will be very worthwhile_ , Charlie’s words now echo in his head. Dan sees the tower in Phil’s eyes. He lets himself believe in the cards. Dan lets himself believe in the way that Phil’s looking at him. He lets himself believe in Phil. 

In _Dan and Phil._ Whatever that may be. 

“I don’t want to forget about it, if that’s okay,” Phil’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. “I get it though. If you do. But I just-” He sighs. Dan finally lets his thumb rub gently across Phil’s cheek again. “I need time.” 

Dan lets the corner of his mouth tug up. “I’ve got time.” He pulls his hand away, but doesn’t let Phil’s drop—instead grabbing it and squeezing. Phil smiles, it’s starting to meet his eyes again. 

Dan lets go of Phil’s hand, only to lean over and grab both of their teas. They should be chilled by now, but there’s still steam rising from the half full mugs. Phil quirks a brow as Dan holds Phil’s out to him. He takes it anyways. 

Dan holds his mug up. “To friends…” 

Phil huffs out a laugh. “To friends.” he holds his mug up as well. The NASA mug in Dan’s hand gently clinks against the touristy London one in Phil’s. 

Before Dan takes a sip he whispers, “To friends who think their friend is hot.” 

Phil snorts, clearly hearing Dan.

“I’ll drink to that,” he says before taking a big sip of his tea. Dan can see his smirk behind his coffee mug. It, surprisingly, feels easy. There’s still confusion in Dan’s heart, but it doesn’t feel devastating—it’s not a closed door.

Dan winks, Phil scrunches up his nose in response, his giggles filling the room. 

_Well that was not how Dan thought his day was going to go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Playlist link!!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0biHc1ZQYSyoNVF3fwjJ5A?si=iqzF322OSzan9o175vgQeQ)  
> mayhaps i don't know what a weekly posting day is, lol sorry!


	8. Chapter 8

“You still want to hang around?” Phil breaks the comfortable silence that’s settled between them. “I do need to redeem myself in Mario Kart, and I can pop something on for dinner if you’d like?” 

“If only to defend my title.” Dan holds his hand to his heart, his tone clearly sarcastic. Dan can tell his fondness is absolutely clouding up the room, but Phil doesn’t seem to mind, so he only dials it back a smidge as Phil sets up the game and settles back next to him on the sofa. 

They play for what feels like hours, Phil constantly waging “all or nothing” after each loss and Dan keeps on beating him. Binx tries to settle between the two of them on the sofa, but he quickly learns it’s a bad idea as Dan and Phil are loudly bickering and pushing into each other to try to get the other off their game. He makes a deal out of getting up from between them and plops himself down on the other end of the sofa, glaring at Dan as he lets out an impressively loud shriek. 

At one point, Dan is in first, Phil trailing in second but too far behind Dan to feasibly catch up, when suddenly the Switch controller flies out of Dan’s hand and lands across the room. 

“WHA-”

“Yes! Finally! I beat you!” Phil shouts over Dan as Phil’s Tanooki Mario zooms across the finish line in first. 

“THE FUCK!” Dan shoots up to retrieve the controller that’s slipped out of his hand as Phil erupts into a fit of giggles on the sofa. 

Dan picks it up from where it landed by the balcony door and squints at it. “Did you grease this up while I wasn’t looking or something?” 

“Maybe you just have greasy hands,” Phil gets out between giggles. Dan turns back around to see Phil with both of his hands over his very red face, completely failing at stifling his laughter. 

“You…” Dan shakes his head, not even thinking as he chucks the remote at Phil, hitting him square in the chest. A weird sense of déjà vu washes over Dan. He shakes it off. 

“Ow!” Phil hisses, but he’s still giggling uncontrollably. “You’re a menace.” 

“You’re a cheater!” 

“I did nothing!” 

Dan narrows his eyes. It’s hard to keep up the façade when Phil pulls his hands away, revealing his big toothy grin—his tongue poking out between his teeth. Dan shakes his head, the smile on his face aching his jaw. 

They both agree to stop playing—Phil smugly keeping the reigning champion title—in order to minimize bruises and damage to Phil’s joy-cons. Phil asks if Dan still would like to stay for dinner and Dan, of course, does. He tries to offer his assistance when Phil says he’ll throw some pasta on for them, but Phil kicks him out of the kitchen with a glass of juice, muttering something about Dan being a _guest_ in his home. 

Dan pouts on his way back to the sofa, though something about Phil wanting to make him dinner puts a warm feeling in his chest. He flops down, laying across the sofa with his head by Binx. He lets Dan use him as a pillow, purring contentedly as Dan scrolls his phone—the sound of Phil puttering about in the kitchen fills the room. 

Dan could get used to this. He probably shouldn’t, just in case, but he’s never been good at stopping himself from getting attached and falling too hard. 

Dan feels oddly comfortable. There’s something about Phil’s presence that puts him at ease and he doesn’t quite understand it, but he also doesn’t want to question it. As they sit together on Phil’s sofa, laughing at the American comedy Phil put on as they twirl spaghetti Phil made them on their forks, Dan decides he needs to just _be._ He doesn’t have to overthink whatever this is, not when it feels this easy. 

_Dan, not overthinking? Interesting concept._

It should be awkward, maybe a bit uncomfortable, as their knees and shoulders knock together—what with Phil basically rejecting Dan. But it doesn’t feel like that, not at all. Phil even seems touchier than usual, finding excuses to pat at Dan’s thigh or lean into his side as he laughs. 

Dan reminds himself, Phil didn’t exactly _reject_ Dan. If anything, the way he’s acting feels the opposite—like a wall has come down and Phil feels more relaxed and free with Dan. Dan feels that ease as well. 

It’s with this feeling that Dan knows he’s willing to wait. He’s more than willing to wait for whatever is holding Phil back, and he’ll accept whatever this is in the meantime. 

Because it’s nice. Phil is nice and warm and funny, and Dan feels like he’s something that he needs in his life—be it friend, lover, or just the cute guy who owns the weird coffee shop Dan frequents. 

It almost feels routine, when Dan carries their empty dishes into the kitchen before Phil can protest, and comes back into the lounge to Phil scrolling through films on Netflix. He’s shut the balcony door and the room feels warmer. Dan hadn’t really realized that the breeze was that cold before, but he guesses it was. He’s also got a colorful blanket on his lap, all greens and blues that remind Dan of Phil’s eyes. 

_Cozy._

“What do you want to watch?” Phil asks as Dan sits back down next to him. Phil doesn’t ask before he’s rearranging the blanket on his lap, tossing it over Dan’s as well. 

_Even cozier._

Dan hums as he scoops the cat beside him up and places him in his lap. Binx, of course, stays—either Phil has a very affectionate cat, or he just really likes Dan. 

_Peak cozy._

“Have you seen this yet?” He grabs for the remote in Phil’s hand and clicks a few titles over to a new original release he’s seen everyone on Twitter talking about recently. Phil hums back a _“no”_ and Dan presses play. 

It’s barely two minutes into the movie before Phil is fully leaning into Dan’s side, dropping his head on Dan’s shoulder. Dan has somehow transcended the levels of coziness, and all he really wants to do is pull Phil in closer—but he’s hesitant. He knows, if anything, Phil should be making any first moves, lest Dan wants to have a repeat of today’s earlier _not kiss._ Everything feels both so confusing and so right all at once. For once in his life, Dan doesn’t overthink it. 

_Friends cuddle, that’s a thing._

“Is this okay?” Phil asks softly, Dan can feel the breath he takes in with how he’s pressed against his side. 

Dan lets his head fall to the side, resting against Phil’s. “Mm-hm.” 

Phil makes a small sound of approval and snuggles in closer, a pale arm snaking out from under their shared blanket to scratch at Binx’s ears. 

As Dan feels his eyes get heavier—the movie only partly paid attention to and the sun outside leaving the sky—all he can think about is how Phil makes him feel the same way Binx feels when he curls up in a ball and purrs. 

“Dan. _Dan_.” Something pushes at Dan’s shoulder and he grumbles, burrowing closer into the softness beside him. “ _Hey. Dan.”_

Something warm squeezes at his shoulder, pulling him in closer. 

_Phil._

Dan’s awake, realizing where he is now—in Phil’s flat, on his sofa where he apparently fell asleep. He’s about to blink his eyes open when he feels Phil lean in closer, and he _swears_ he feels Phil press a kiss into his hair. That tingling feeling returns, from the top of his head down to the tip of his toes, and he feels Phil take in a sharp breath beside him. But Phil still holds Dan close, so Dan takes a page out of one of his classic childhood Dan books and pretends to be asleep for just a bit longer—enough to savor the moment. 

It doesn’t last long enough. 

“Dan.” Phil squeezes at Dan’s shoulder. “C’mon, you fell asleep.” 

Dan does his best impression of what he thinks his early morning tired groan would be—which isn’t much of a task, he _is_ incredibly sleepy. “Mm?” 

Phil lets out a small chuckle, rubbing his thumb against Dan’s shoulder before pulling his arm away. The contact is missed instantly. “Hi.” Phil smiles as Dan finally blinks open his eyes. It’s brighter than he thought it would be. 

_Did he really sleep through the night?_

The thought is squashed when his vision comes more into focus. Dan rubs at his eyes and realizes Phil’s put a lamp on in the corner. Dan turns his head to the side, it’s completely dark outside—well, minus the city lights of London. 

He turns back to Phil, who’s got a heartbreakingly sleepy grin on his face. “Hi.” 

“It’s after midnight,” Phil says quietly. “Do you want me to take you home, or um, you can stay here?” 

“Mm,” Dan hums. “I don’t want to leave.” Apparently the tiredness is completely destroying his filter. 

Phil laughs. “Okay, you’re more than welcome to stay. I’ll show you to my room, I’ll take the sofa.” 

Dan becomes a bit more lucid at the mention of sleeping in _Phil’s bed._ Though tempting, he can think of about a hundred reasons why that wouldn’t bode well. Especially on a day where his morning started how it did… 

“No, no,” Dan says quickly. “I don’t want to put you out, I’m happy to take the sofa. It’s comfy.” He makes a point to bounce on his bum on the soft cushions, to emphasize his point. 

Dan can tell Phil is about to protest, so he gives him a look. An _I’m not budging about this, you’re already too nice to me_ look. 

Phil smiles and shakes his head in defeat. “Alright,” he pushes up off the cushions, “I’ll get you set up. Here, um… ” Phil scratches at the back of his neck, then points down the hallway behind him. “Uh, bathroom’s the first door on the left. There’s a toothbrush out for you and some pjs too.” He squints at Dan, who’s slowly blinking, trying to stay awake. Dan’s too tired to let the questions floating around in his head fully form. 

“Are you too sleepy to brush your teeth?” Phil asks when Dan makes no move to get up. 

_Yes._

But Dan shakes his head, he’ll regret it in the morning if he doesn’t. Not to mention he cannot stand sleeping in jeans, he won’t do that again. There’s a fleeting thought though, one that Dan sleepily chuckles at—he wonders if he says no, if sweet, hospitable Phil would brush his teeth for him. He thinks he would—that image alone is hilarious, and enough to get him moving. He pulls his tired body up off the sofa and let’s Phil push him in the direction of the hallway, pointing out the bathroom again. 

Dan’s head feels hazy and his limbs feel heavy as he steps into the bathroom, the lights flicking on as he enters. _Oh_ , how he wishes he could be so blessed with automatic lights in his own flat, the level of lazy he would become… 

He yawns, staring back at his sleepy, puffy faced reflection. He grimaces at the redness of his face and the disaster that is his hair, but he’s too tired to truly care. There’s a sparkly purple toothbrush, it looks similar to the ones he would get after a dental visit as a kid, and a tube of toothpaste on the sink. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the neatly folded pile of clothes set out on the closed toilet lid. Dan splashes some water on his face and smiles the entire time he scrubs his teeth. 

He exits the bathroom—probably a significant amount of time later, his tired limbs slowing him down—and makes his way back down the hall. He feels soft and warm. The pajamas Phil left him smell strongly of laundry detergent, but the distinct smell of Phil is still there. They’re loose fitting and worn in a way that makes them feel soft and comfortable. And Dan is all too tired to care about the garishly bright colors of the bottoms, or the rip off of the Starbucks logo with “Basic Witch” around it on the shirt he was given. Okay, maybe Dan had a bit of a laugh at that when he pulled it on and looked at himself in the mirror. 

Even in his half awake state, Dan isn’t at all expecting what he sees when he steps back into the lounge. Phil has pulled the curtains and flicked the light off so it’s dark, but not too dark, as he surveys the scene in front of him. 

“Didn’t look like a pull-out,” Dan mumbles. Because it definitely didn’t, Phil’s sofa a similar style and material to the cozy chairs downstairs, just in a larger form. But it isn’t _that_ much larger, so it’s a tad shocking to see a full sized bed pulled out of it. It’s all done up too, with sheets and a duvet and _multiple pillows_. Dan wants to dive in head first. 

Phil turns from where he’s pulling back one of the corners of the duvet, so Dan can get in— _because of course he is_. “Yeah. It’s cool, isn’t it?”

“Fancy pull-out.” 

Phil chuckles at Dan’s barely intelligible state and pats at the side of the bed before stepping away from it. Dan doesn’t need to be asked twice. Apparently, neither does Binx, jumping up on the bed before Dan can even make his way over. Phil hums something that sounds like “ _traitor”_ as Dan climbs into bed. 

“Okay, are you all set? Do you need anything?” 

_You._

“Mmph,” Dan actually says aloud. “Thank you. Go to bed Phil.” He pulls the soft covers around himself, absolutely sinking into the plush mattress—it literally feels like he’s been wrapped up in warm clouds. 

Phil pats at Dan’s foot through the duvet. “Goodnight, Dan,” Phil says softly. 

Everything is just _so soft._

“Night, Phil.” 

Dan’s eyelids are heavy, but hell if he doesn’t watch Phil as he turns away and disappears down the hall. He looks up at the decals on the brick wall before letting his eyes close, marveling in how they illuminate in the dark. If it were on any other wall, in any other adult’s house, Dan would think glow in the dark stars were childish, but they aren’t here. They’re incredibly Phil. 

The click of a door closing echoes through the flat and Dan finally lets his eyes shut, turning on his side and cuddling deeper into the soft bed. Something pokes at his thigh, it makes him jump before he realizes what it is. 

Dan drifts off to sleep like that, Phil’s blankets pulled up tight around his face and Phil’s cat gently kneading at his leg. 

Dan isn’t pulled out of a dream when he wakes. In fact, he doesn’t think he’s dreamt at all. He blinks his eyes awake, taking in his surroundings with a yawn. The confusion of being somewhere other than his own home clouds his mind before it starts to wake up. Something warm is pressed up against Dan’s side and he peers down. 

_Yeah, he could get used to this._

Binx’s rumbly purr slowly starts up again once Dan gets a hand out from the covers and strokes at his fur. As he wakes up, he registers that he can hear Phil puttering about in the kitchen. There’s a few soft clangs and Phil is humming a song dan doesn’t recognize—which isn’t out of the ordinary. 

Everything seems so _not_ out of the ordinary, and Dan absolutely buzzes with the feeling. 

He decides not to break this morning magic, letting Phil continue to sing freely from the other room under the impression that Dan is still asleep. 

To the side of Dan, the coffee table that was displaced by pulling the bed out is pushed up next to it. When Dan notices it, and the glass of water that he didn’t realize Phil had set out for him last night, he props himself up on an elbow to reach for it. Binx makes a small noise of protest as he leans over him, but he doesn’t move from his spot. 

Dan drinks half the glass in a few large gulps and places it back down, pulling his phone off the table and the charger it’s plugged into—thanks to Phil again—and settling himself back against the pillows of the bed. He doesn’t even yawn as he checks his notifications and his emails, and he doesn’t feel the need to go back to sleep—two very rare things for Dan. He feels like he slept _hard_ last night, fully rested and awake. 

Phil’s still humming the same tune as the smell of coffee and something sweet start to float around the room. Dan kind of wishes he knew it so he could sing it too. 

He’s fully invested in a news article when he hears a surprised, “ _Oh!”_ from the other side of the room. 

“You’re up!” Dan looks over and Phil’s smiling, holding a steaming mug in each hand. Dan has a fleeting thought that one day, he would like to make Phil coffee for once. It wouldn’t be as good as the coffee Phil makes himself, probably nowhere near it, but Dan would like that. He would like that a lot. 

Dan hums, his eyes crinkling as he drops his phone on the bed and Phil makes his way over. 

Phil looks from Dan’s eyes to his right hand, where he’s absentmindedly scratching at Binx’s side. “You and the _traitor_ are up, I mean.”

“Excuse me?” Dan scoffs as he reaches for the coffee Phil is handing him. Dan lets the steam tickle his nose as he inhales the scent, taking a sip to find it’s still the _perfect_ coffee Phil makes—just in a Sailor Moon mug instead of one of his shop’s nicer matching decorative mugs. 

“Binx always sleeps with me, but he slept with you through the whole night,” Phil explains with a pout. 

“He loves me.” Dan emphasizes his point with a gentle pat on the cat’s head. Phil laughs. 

“Can I sit?” Phil gestures to the empty spot next to Dan. 

“Of course.” 

Phil steps around the bed and it dips under Dan as he sits down next to him, mimicking Dan’s position propped up against the pillows.

_Oh, how Dan wishes he woke up like this._

“What was that you were just singing?” 

“Hm?” Phil hums as he sips his coffee. 

“In the kitchen just now, you were singing something pretty,” Dan hums a bit of what he remembers, but it’s probably both wrong and way out of tune. 

“Oh,” Phil laughs, “didn’t know you could hear me. Stevie Nicks. Think About It.” 

Dan chuckles around his own sip of coffee. “Of course.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Phil knocks their shoulders together, spilling some of his coffee with the action. “Oops.” He pats at the coffee spot on the duvet with his bare hand, and Dan can’t help but snort at how _weird_ Phil is sometimes. 

“You really like her music.” Dan shrugs. 

“Yeah well she’s…” Phil trails off as he purses his lips. Dan doesn’t think about how much he wants to kiss him. 

_Friends,_ his mind yells. 

“Her music’s really good,” Phil settles on. “It makes me feel good.” 

Dan’s the one to knock their shoulders together this time. “I can tell,” he says through stifled laughter. 

“Shut up,” Phil giggles. Something beeps from the kitchen and Phil’s head snaps over. Nothing has to be said as Dan holds his hand out to take Phil’s mug and Phil passes it over before jumping up. 

“Do you like cinnamon rolls?” Phil calls from the kitchen. “I made them myself,” he adds with pride, leaning against the half wall of the kitchen with a pan in his oven—mitt clad hand. 

Dan nods enthusiastically.

“You don’t normally?” he asks as Phil spins back around, the hanging plants above him sway with the movement. 

“I uh-” Phil appears back out of the kitchen, a plate with a few frosted buns in his hand. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I don’t know why I said it like that.” He shakes his head and stares down at the plate as he speaks. 

“Phil, I’m just messing with you.” 

“ _Oh._ ” Phil laughs, but it sounds a bit forced. Dan hates himself for it. “Right, yeah.” 

“Sor-” Dan starts but Phil waves him off as he sits back down. 

“Only on cup number two,” Phil says as he takes his mug back from Dan, “not running on maximum Phil capacity yet.” He laughs, and Dan watches as his eyes crinkle, the look in his eyes and his smile matching. 

“Wait, what time is it?” Dan asks, looking around in the duvet for his phone. 

“Hm, ‘round nine or so. Do you have to be somewhere?” 

“Oh. No, let’s be real if I’m leaving my house it’s to come here,” Dan mumbles, unsure why the words were even coming out of his mouth. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs by now?” he adds, trying to play off what he just admitted—though they’re both already well aware of it. Dan’s not necessarily subtle about spending most of his days in the coffee shop. 

“I have a bit… the shop pretty much runs itself once I set up and bake the pastries for the day.”

Dan finally registers that Phil’s fully dressed, in his usual tight jeans and a black graphic tee that hangs loose on his body, and his hair is perfectly styled. He’s probably been up for a while now. 

Phil coughs. “I mean, uh, I _do_ have employees you know.” 

“Huh,” Dan hums. 

“You would know if you ever woke up before the sun comes up.” Phil nudges at Dan’s shoulder. 

“Hey!” Dan pushes back. “Who in their right mind would do that?”

They share a look, noses scrunched up, and laugh. 

“I’m assuming you probably have to go down there soon?” 

“Mm, probably,” Phil hums. “But I have time for breakfast with Dan, if he has time for breakfast with Phil.” Phil holds the plate of cinnamon rolls out to Dan. 

Dan picks one up, it's warm and fluffy, and the smell of cinnamon fills the room. “‘Course he does.” 

They sit side by side, shoulder to shoulder, and eat their cinnamon rolls and sip their coffee. Phil’s flat is filled with hushed giggles and grown men with icing sticky fingers poking at each other. Dan wishes it could go on for hours. But when the plate and their cups are empty—an experience Dan’s never had at Phil’s café—Dan starts to worry about overstaying his welcome. 

Which, in it of itself, is quite the funny feeling considering. 

“Do you want to have a shower? Before coming down?” Phil calls over his shoulder as he’s walking their dishes back into the kitchen. 

Dan stretches his limbs, muttering a small, “ _S_ _orry,”_ as he displaces Binx from his cozy spot next to him, and starts the task of pulling himself out of bed. A shower sounds lovely, a shower at _Phil’s_ … 

_Dan should probably get heading home._ He says as much. 

“I should probably head home, got a few things to do.” Maybe it’s a bit of a fib, maybe not. He just doesn’t want to seem like the clingy love-sick puppy that he is. 

“Oh, okay.” Phil emerges from the kitchen as Dan’s stepping towards it. He sounds… disappointed. “Here, let me grab you something to wear.” Phil doesn’t make a point of hiding how he looks Dan up and down. Dan’s face goes bright red. “We’re about the same size?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Dan stammers. “But uh, you don’t have to do that. My clothes from yesterday are fine.” 

Phil tuts, “Nonsense, I’ll be right back.” He steps past Dan and is down the hallway before Dan can protest any more. 

_Let’s face it, he’s not going to fight too hard against the offer of wearing Phil’s clothes._

When Phil opened up shop earlier that morning, he had collected Dan’s things that were abandoned to meet Phil’s cat—so Dan’s shiny black backpack sits by Phil’s doorway like it belongs there. It definitely makes Dan feel some type of way, and he really doesn't want to leave. But he should, he knows he should. 

Dan shoves his phone into Phil’s jeans and his feet, clad in a mismatched pair of Phil’s socks, into his shoes before slinging his bag over his shoulder. Phil walks him out, following him down the stairs with a hand on Dan’s shoulder—his own grey NASA jumper the only layer between their skin. 

There’s a handful of people dotted around the coffee shop, and the music Dan’s becoming more and more familiar with is playing overhead, but Dan pays little attention to his surroundings as Phil walks him all the way to the door. 

“See you soon, Dan.” Phil drops his hand down to squeeze at Dan’s wrist before letting go. 

Dan leans against the door, his shoulder pushing it open, a fresh spring breeze blowing in with it. 

“Thanks Phil, I had a nice time.” 

Phil’s eyes crinkle as he smiles wider. Dan doesn’t want to step away. 

“Me too.” 

Dan taps his pointer and ring finger to his temple, pulling it away in an awkward salute as he pushes the door open fully and steps away. Phil’s laughter follows him down the street—Dan smiles to himself as he walks. 

It’s only when Dan’s sat down on the tube, looking down at the blue stars on one ankle and the purple bats on the other—exposed from the shorter length of Phil’s jeans—that he realizes Phil has managed to nick his favorite pair of jeans _and_ one of his striped shirts. Dan briefly remembers that Phil also still has one of his jumpers. He wraps his arms around himself, hugging Phil’s jumper closer to his body. He truly can’t be mad about it. 

Dan imagines what Phil would look like in his scandalously ripped jeans the entire ride home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to all of ya'll reading, i truly appreciate it!! and here's the link to the [playlist!!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0biHc1ZQYSyoNVF3fwjJ5A?si=ilf9YDKpQVeqV4hZU0Uz2Q%22)


	9. Chapter 9

The sky is overcast the day it happens. 

Dan wakes to a dark room. He thinks he’s up early before checking the time on his phone, realizing it’s actually half past ten and the unusually sunny, clear weather London’s had over the past week has broken. 

It was starting to weird him out, quite honestly, so many days without dark clouds or rain—so the change in weather to something more familiar is welcomed. 

Dan rolls out of bed and into the shower after responding to Phil’s morning text of a row of various odd emojis Dan didn’t even know were on the keyboard—he shoots back a few rare ones after scrolling through it himself. Because, yeah, that’s a thing they do now. If Dan’s not at the café or hanging out with Phil at one of their flats, he’s texting back and forth with Phil. 

It feels silly sometimes, their small conversations that are nothing more than updates on what they’re up to or Phil sending pictures of his cat, like Dan’s a teenager with a crush again—but he guesses that’s what he is. Just an adult with a crush, though it feels so much more than that. 

Dan turns the water up hot, enough that his skin is flushed pink all over by the time he’s stepping out, and takes the time to thoroughly blow dry his hair. His curls are fluffy, on the verge of frizzy, when it’s dry, and he opts to throw on his most acceptable pair of joggers and a long hoodie after rummaging through his closet. 

It feels like it suits the day, soft and cozy to combat grey clouds and the chill in the air. Dan could, technically, work from home today, there’s no reason for him to leave the house. In fact, it would make more sense for him to stay home with the amount of socialization he has planned for the day—a catch up and dinner with Bryony later, then crafts night at the coffee shop. Any introvert like Dan would happily stay home to prepare for all of that, but Dan doesn’t think twice about it as he leaves his house. 

It’s just his new routine now, and he doesn’t think he’d want it any other way. 

He’s been productive lately, writing things that are actually good, that he’s proud of— _not_ listicles. And today is no different, he taps away at his laptop with his feet outstretched towards the fire. It pops and cracks in an incredibly satisfying way and Dan’s appreciative that it can be heard over the music of the shop and his obnoxiously loud typing. 

It’s just Dan and Phil, as per usual for Tuesday afternoons—Dan feels warm all over with the thought. 

_Routine._

He never thought he would fall into it so easily with another person. Yet here they are. 

Phil is sitting in the chair across from Dan, he’s got a book in his hands and his feet kicked up on the armrest—keeping an eye on the door. He only gets up once or twice to make someone a coffee to take away as they coexist in a comfortable quiet. 

When Dan’s eyes flick to the time at the corner of his laptop, he’s reminded that he _does_ have other places to be, and he really can’t bail on these plans as much as he wants to. It’s not like he doesn’t want to see Bry, he does, he just thinks it should be illegal to have to get up from such a cozy spot. He groans and shuts his laptop closed, stuffing it into his bag before prying his body from the soft chair. 

“Hm,” Phil looks up from his book, “leaving me already?” 

Dan chuckles as he walks over to where Phil’s sat. “I’ve been here for hours, Phil.” 

“Never enough time,” Phil hums, closing his book. Dan’s warm cheeks aren’t from the fire. 

“I’ll see you tonight, yeah?” Phil’s brown hair looks particularly chestnut in the warm glow of the fire. It also looks very soft. So Dan does the only thing he wants to do as Phil looks up at him, he runs his hand through Phil’s hair, ruffling his quiff out of place before pulling his hand away. Phil smiles and leans into the touch, but scrunches his nose as a few stray pieces of hair fall into his eyes. 

It’s stupid cute. 

“I’ll miss you.” Phil pouts, dropping his book to his side to reach his arms up. 

“It’s a couple of hours.” Dan rolls his eyes but bends down anyways. He can’t quite get his own arms around Phil due to his position in the chair, but Phil wraps his around Dan’s neck and holds him tight for a moment—their cheeks pressed together.

“I’ll miss you, too,” Dan hums into Phil’s shoulder before pulling away. 

Dan is quick to get home and change into something more acceptable for the outside world, trading his lounge clothes for jeans and a jumper. He grabs his raincoat on the way out. It looked like the sky was about to open up the entire way home, and he doesn’t want to chance getting caught in a storm without being prepared. 

His pace is kicked up a notch as he feels his phone buzz every few seconds in his pocket. He doesn’t have to check it to know that he’s running late, it’s hard to keep track of time whenever he sets foot in Witch’s Brew. That’s the excuse he settles on, _not_ that he intentionally stuck around for an hour more than originally planned. 

_But who is Dan, if not always fashionably late?_

Bryony is already sitting at their favorite booth in the back corner of their favorite Thai restaurant when he arrives. It’s secluded enough to shield the rest of the restaurant from their loud gossip and Dan’s booming laugh, but it’s situated in the perfect spot to people watch and make up stories about other diners. 

That’s why Dan loves Bry, she always brings the judgmental gossipy bitch out of him. He loves it. 

“Table over there, by the window,” Bryony says the second Dan slides into the booth. He turns his head to look where she’s pointing across the room. “Definite sugar baby situation going on.” 

Dan snorts as he turns back to Bry leaning across the table, the light green in her hair is especially bright—she must’ve just refreshed it. He feels a bit bad that it’s been that long since they’ve hung out last. 

“Don’t look at me like that, I heard her call him _daddy_ when I came in!” she says to Dan’s disapproving stare. 

“She’s probably his _actual_ daughter.” Dan rolls his eyes. 

Bry just smirks, a brow raised as she gestures back over to the table in question. “You do that with your dad?” 

Dan turns his head again and regrets it immediately, the two people at the table now leaning across it in a heated kiss. “Jesus christ,” Dan whispers as he holds back hysterical laughter. 

“Hey, I missed you!” Bryony leans across the table to sock Dan in the shoulder. 

Dan rubs at his arm. “Missed you too. Did you already order?” he asks as he picks up the menu he already has memorized. 

“Waited for you, as always.” 

“God, you’re insufferable.” 

“I don’t know why we’re friends.” 

“Birds of a feather flock together, or some shit like that.”

Dan whacks at Bryony’s arm with the menu, and they shoot baseless insults back and forth at each other though fits of laughter until their waiter comes by to save them from themselves. 

“So what’s their name?”

“Hm?” Dan hums around a mouthful of green curry. 

_Maybe he can play dumb for just a bit longer._

Bryony sighs. “I just talked about myself for an uninterrupted twenty minutes, that only ever happens when you’re in the about to pass out stages of tequila drunk or when you’re trying to keep whoever you’re dating to yourself.” She points her fork out at him, squinting her eyes, “I don’t like when you keep secrets, Howell.” 

“Fine, I had a few margaritas before coming here.” Dan knows he can’t avoid the topic, and he doesn’t know why he’s trying to—he’s absolutely bursting at the seams to talk about Phil. It probably has to do with the fact that they _aren’t_ dating, but in this weird limbo between friends and something more. But he also feels what they have is special, like if he talks about it what they have will feel cheap, or they simply just won’t understand it. 

Dan barely understands it himself. He thinks of soft, warm hands around his neck and even softer spoken _“I’ll miss you_ ”s. 

But this is Bryony, she’s been around for all three hundred of Dan’s existential crises, if anyone were to understand whatever the hell is going on between them—with no judgement—it’d be her. 

Dan sighs, loud and dramatic. “I’m literally living in one of your slow-burn coffee shop fan fictions.” 

“Oh, so you _have_ been reading my writing.” A smug grin stretches across her face. 

Dan holds up a hand. “Not my point.” 

“That’s why you’ve been so MIA lately, you’ve been at that coffee shop?”

Dan nods, taking a sip of his wine before continuing. 

“God, Bry, he’s _so_ hot,” Dan whines. Bryony leans forward, her elbow on the table, chin in hand—Dan knows this means _tell me everything._ So he does. 

“His name is _Phil_ ,” Dan says his name like he’s got absolute stars in his eyes. “He owns the coffee shop I told you about. Yeah, I _know_ , a business owner-” 

“That’s sexy,” Bry interrupts, taking the thought directly from Dan’s brain. 

He nods with a smug grin, his lips almost disappearing from how close they’re pressed together. “Bry, he’s _so_ cool. And he has all these cool friends, you’ll probably meet them tonight too.” Dan talks a mile a minute, “He’s got these blue eyes and they’re so fucking blue, but if you look really close there are also these flecks of green and yellow and- oh my god Bry, he wears glasses that have glitter bits in the frames and he changes out the colors all the time.” It’s surprising that Dan isn’t out of breath by now. Once he starts talking about Phil, he can’t seem to stop. 

“Oh! And he has a _cat_! A cat! The cat slept with me all night last week when I stayed over-”

Bryony holds a hand up, Dan knows when he needs to explain. 

“It’s not like that though.” Dan sighs. “I made a proper idiot of myself trying to kiss him.” 

Bryony frowns. “Oh, honey…” 

“It wasn’t _that_ bad, like, I don’t know.” He groans, running a hand through his hair as he looks down at the table. “He says he likes me and he’s all cuddly and flirty with me, but he says he can’t go there yet. It’s all so confusing, but it’s also so perfect.” Dan pouts, looking back up to Bryony. She has a similar expression on her face, pity in the forefront of her eyes. 

“You know, you’ve been down that road before,” she says after a pause. 

“It’s not really the same, at least I don’t think.” 

Bryony raises a brow, Dan pretty much knows the lecture before he gets it. 

“You could be better at communicating…” 

Dan sighs. “I know I’m not the best, but I tried.” Bry gives him a look and Dan shakes his head. “I _did_ , I just don’t want to push it or make things weird when he seems like he’s not willing to talk about it.” 

“Hm.” 

It’s Dan’s turn to raise an eyebrow. 

“No, no. I just, you talk so differently about this. It’s weird to see such a mature and level-headed Dan.” 

“Hey!” 

Bryony leans across the table to shove at Dan’s shoulder. “I’m just messing. It’s a good look on you, though. Whatever it is,” she smiles. It almost looks like there’s some pride mixed into it. 

Dan can’t help but grin back. 

“I think I could properly love him, you know?” Dan says in a quiet voice, to the inside of his wine glass instead of to Bryony. It comes out on its own accord, but Dan doesn’t think he disagrees as the word sits on his tongue. There’s a soft, “ _Huh,”_ from the other side of the table, and Dan feels a bit suffocated with the mood he’s brought with him. 

Bry feels it as well, and he’s glad he has a friend that knows him so well—or at least, a friend who can’t deal with all the lovey-dovey bullshit. 

“So tell me more about these fabled cute girls who you think are my type…”

Dan and Bryony are full of giggles from gossip and wine as they leave the restaurant.

The sky overhead has finally broken, a light drizzle picking up as they walk. They’re not too bothered by it, both flipping up the hoods of their raincoats and bouncing along with linked arms—they don’t care about getting wet when they’re in such high spirits. 

There’s a buzz flowing through Dan’s body that has nothing to do with his two glasses of wine with dinner, he’s excited to introduce his best friend to Phil… his, well, _other_ best friend. 

_Because that’s what they are, aren’t they?_

The confusion that tugs at his chest can’t even stop the smile that’s plastered on his face as he leads the way, telling Bry about how much she’s going to love the little group—especially on a night where they have crafts planned. It’s the perfect introduction, he’s surprisingly not worried or anxious about how it’s going to go at all. Which is definitely a first for Dan. He's past counting all these firsts by now, he simply just accepts them. 

“It’s right up here.” Dan points up the street they’ve just turned down and Bryony shakes her head as Dan’s pace picks up. 

“What were you even doing on this side of town?” 

“I was taking a walk, trying to clear my head before I had a full breakdown about book two.” 

“Hm,” Bryony hums, “I always thought it was more residential around here. Apartments and offices, no wonder I hadn’t heard of this place before.” 

“Mm, yeah,” Dan hums, not really mulling over the thought as he blinks out the rain that’s dropped into his eyes. It’s properly raining now, more of a storm than a drizzle, but it’s only just starting to come down a bit slanted and they’re almost there, so he’s not too put off by it. 

Bryony is telling a work story, and Dan is thinking about replacing his slightly damp jeans with a pair of Phil’s sweats, so when his feet stop in front of Witch’s Brew it takes a full minute for his brain to catch up with what’s in front of him. 

“Why are we stopping?” Bryony pokes him in the side. “It’s pouring Dan, come on.” She tugs at his arm. 

“Bry I…” Dan steps back, turning his head to look up and down the street. “ _What the fuck,”_ he whispers under his breath. “Just give me a second.” He looks back at a confused looking Bryony as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He feels a thousand times more confused than she looks. 

Phil picks up on the second ring. 

“Dan! Are you on your way back to me yet?” Phil’s cheery voice, the smile he can hear in it, makes the corners of Dan’s mouth tug up the slightest bit—but his brain hurts too much to lean into it. There’s muffled laughter on the other side of the line. 

“I might be losing my mind, so this is going to sound ridiculous, but tell me the address of the shop again.” 

Phil chuckles in Dan’s ear, but humors him, rattling off the familiar address. Right where he’s standing in the middle of the rain. 

_What the fuck?_

“Phil, you’re punking me.” Dan starts to pace back and forth. His wet shoes squelching as Phil and Bryony are both questioning him in each ear. 

“We’re right outside,” Dan responds to Phil’s, “ _What are you talking about?”_

“Huh?” Phil hums and Dan can hear the laughter in the background fade. Then there’s the familiar ringing of the bell above the café. 

But it’s only heard over the phone. Then Phil laughs. 

“Funny prank, Dan. What, are you around the corner? Get over here it’s supposed to start raining soon!” 

Dan’s head hurts, he feels his breathing start to reach that lightheaded, dizzy level of fast. 

_What the fuck?_

“Phil it is raining.” 

There’s a pause. It feels like hours as Dan’s damp curls drip rain down his face. 

“Did you say we?” Phil finally responds, his voice is small. Dan can’t quite pick out any emotion from it, it sounds like the complete lack of emotion. He doesn’t like the feeling. 

“Yeah?” Dan looks over at Bryony, who’s squinting at Dan with her arms crossed. She mouths, “ _What the fuck?”_ to Dan. He shakes his head, reaching his other hand up to push back his hood so he can run it through his hair—pushing it up off his forehead. 

_What the fuck, indeed._

There’s a deep wobbly sigh over the phone. Dan’s legs feel the same way the sigh sounds. A pit is forming in his stomach and he feels a hand on his shoulder, Bry finally realizing that she is _also_ not being pranked. 

“Phil?” Dan’s voice is smaller, barely above a whisper as rain hits his cheeks. 

When Phil answers, it doesn’t even sound like his voice. The rain, the ringing in Dan’s ears, his heart beating in his chest. It all feels _wrong_ and he doesn’t know why. 

“Dan. It’s magic.” 

He looks up at the nondescript apartment building in front of them, as if it’ll answer his questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting schedule has def gone out the window as i battle with trying to not let my own expectations for this story block me from writing it! Hope ya'll enjoy this chapter, and I'll get the next one up as soon as I can!  
> only added one song to the playlist [the playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0biHc1ZQYSyoNVF3fwjJ5A?si=obevsfeFRwej4fIWkyMjEQ) but here she is!


	10. Chapter 10

_“Magic.”_

Phil’s short tone echoes in Dan’s brain. He’s shut off, he’s aware he’s done it, he knows he shouldn’t, but something flicks a switch in him that doesn’t want to be turned back on. Words and fragments of thoughts start to form a headache behind his eye. 

“ _You should leave.”_

Dan doesn’t really remember anything besides the words bouncing around his head and Bryony’s hand on his elbow, but he’s now sat on her sofa—he’s in his pants and one of Bry’s band tees, a pair of her fuzzy socks on his feet. His rain soaked curls drip down the side of his face as she drapes a warm patchwork quilt around his shoulders. 

“ _Y_ _ou have someone else with you, yeah?”_

The look in Dan’s eyes is absolutely pitiful, he feels, and looks much like a child as Bryony stands over him and asks what kind of tea he’d like. He simply shrugs in response. He doesn’t know. He isn’t sure about much of anything right now. 

_“I don’t know,” Phil’s sighing in Dan’s ear, “I don’t know how you managed to see it. You shouldn’t have been able to step foot in this place.”_

She turns on her heel and disappears to the other room after a long look. She doesn’t ask. She didn’t ask as Dan dropped his hand to his side after the phone went silent on the other end, the look in his eyes apparently giving the explanation he isn’t ready to give. Or well, the explanation he doesn’t have. 

_“I can’t take it down for you to come in, Dan, I can’t.”_

Dan pulls the quilt around him tighter, hugging himself, as he stares forward at one of the paintings on Bry’s wall. His head hurts, it’s starting to throb even though he’s not thinking of much of anything, just letting Phil’s voice echo in his head. 

It doesn’t make sense. But it does. But it doesn’t. 

“ _It’s magic.”_

Magic isn’t real.

It’s not a prank. But it has to be. 

Maybe Dan _is_ doing a bit of thinking, his brain being stretched and pulled every which way as he tries to make sense of what the hell just happened. 

“ _You should leave.”_

That was the only thing Dan understood, as he stood in the rain in front of a building he didn’t recognize in the same exact spot he walked up to almost every day. Somehow Dan’s fucked everything up and Phil wanted him to go, that was loud and clear. 

He barely registers Bryony coming back into the room, passing him a mug, and plopping down next to him. She doesn’t ask for more, just patting at Dan’s knee as she says he’s alright to stay the night. 

Dan doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to be alone, but he doesn’t want to _not_ be alone. 

So Dan does the only thing he knows how. He shuts off and detaches, leaning into the side of the couch as Bryony throws a random Marvel movie they’ve both already seen countless times on the television. 

The mug he’s holding is warm in his hands, but it doesn’t steam. When he lifts it to his mouth it’s bitter, not sweet. 

_Magic._

Phil doesn’t text or call, and Dan doesn’t either. The thought crosses his mind, to shoot Phil a text asking if it was all a joke or some elaborate prank, but by the time he’s flopping face down back into his own bed the next morning he’s convinced himself not to. 

He should shower. He should make himself breakfast after declining coffee at Bryony’s. He should stop being so dramatic. 

_Is he being dramatic?_ It’s safe to assume—he usually is. 

Dan doesn’t know, he doesn’t understand anything right now. Nothing makes sense. He lets out a strangled groan into his pillow and debates going back to sleep—just so his brain will stop racing. But his brain racing is exactly why he _can’t_ sleep. 

After god knows how long of laying face down willing his mind and its intrusive thoughts to shut up, Dan gives up. He stretches a long arm out and reaches for his backpack that was abandoned by the side of his bed yesterday afternoon. 

_Things were so much clearer yesterday afternoon._

Dan does dwell on it, because there’s nothing more he can really do at this point, as he fishes out his laptop and sits up in bed. 

_What the hell happened?_

That’s not the question he taps into the Google search bar though, no, his question is much more… 

Well, Dan doesn’t know what it is. 

Dan hits return and the page loads, the answers to “ _i_ _s magic real”_ laid out in front of him. He feels stupid as he scrolls— _of course it isn’t real—_ simply scanning the headlines, rolling his eyes at more than a few of them. 

“Are witches real?” he reads aloud. “ _Obviously not,”_ he adds his own commentary as he keeps scrolling. 

There has to be another explanation. Dan backpedals his search and instead types: _building disappearing_. He scrolls, finding nothing of use. 

_How drunk do you have to be to start seeing mirages?_ He doesn’t think he was drunk and the search results give him no insight. 

Dan scrolls Wikipedia, various forums, and even sighs through a few YouTube videos, but nothing gives him a clear answer. Nothing gives him the answer he needs. He types in every key word he can think of, anything that can get him closer to getting an answer that points him in the direction of Phil being genuine, and not just trying to get Dan away from him. 

Dan’s tugging at the ends of his hair in frustration, eyes glazed over as they scan the Wikipedia page for _Wicca_ , when the answer pops into his head. 

_Duh, why didn’t he start with this?_

He taps _Witch’s Brew London_ into the search bar, inhales a deep breath, and lets it out as he hits the return key. 

It’s almost like the universe is laughing at him when he scrolls and scrolls, even going as far as clicking to the second—and third, and fourth—page of Google. All he’s provided with is an orchestral album of the same name. 

No coffee shop, no address, no website, no business information. 

Dan’s breathing kicks up, getting dangerously close to hyperventilating again as he types and searches and retypes all different keywords alongside _Witch’s Brew—_ the street it’s on, a Yelp review, even Phil’s first name. Absolutely nothing comes up. 

He knows it’s common for people to disconnect from the internet this day and age, and _hell_ , maybe he could pin Phil as the type to do so if he didn’t know him so well. Phil is just as tuned into the internet as Dan. Maybe Dan still can’t find Phil on social media, but he understands all the niche internet references Dan makes and he even makes them back, so it would be downright strange for Phil to not have a website for his business. 

Yet there aren't even hours of operation listed on Google. 

It’s as though Witch’s Brew doesn’t exist. 

Dan slams his laptop shut. 

_It can’t be true._

He’s still in his jeans from yesterday, they’re stiff and uncomfortable from how they dried from the rain. He feels a bit gross, and a bit sick to his stomach, but he rolls over anyway, pulling his duvet over his head instead of getting up to close the curtains. 

If there’s one thing Daniel Howell is incredibly good at, it’s shutting his brain off and ignoring his problems when things get to be too much. 

And so that’s what he does. 

Dan eventually rolls out of bed and makes himself an unsurprisingly bland dinner. He eats in front of the TV with the evening news on mute, and manages to drag himself into the shower once he’s thrown his dishes in the sink. 

Phil doesn’t text. Neither does Dan. He climbs back into bed that night, tossing and turning into the wee hours with images of glowing vines and fires that crackle and pop into entire galaxies. 

Surprisingly, he gets a lot of writing done when he’s doing everything he can to not think about Phil. 

Days pass as he sits in his couch crease, his duvet wrapped over his head and around his shoulders, tapping away at his laptop. He dives into a few think-pieces, getting angry at politics and the state of the world takes his mind off of what he really wants to be thinking about. There’s also a few odd moments of inspiration, ones that come without warning, where he tabs over to a new document full of words he doesn’t read back after they’re typed onto the page. 

He doesn’t know what it is yet. But it’s something. 

Not thinking about Phil doesn’t always work though. 

He cries, and even he can acknowledge it’s a bit pathetic. He doesn’t really know what he’s crying about, but his heart hurts, his head hurts, and he’s too stubborn and confused to text or call Phil. 

Dan thinks about it often, even when he’s telling himself that he’s not going to lament over Phil, he thinks about how easy it would be to just send him a text. But with each day that goes by without Phil reaching out himself, Dan convinces himself more and more that the other night was all an elaborate scheme to get Dan to stop bothering Phil. 

_Because that’s what he was doing, right?_

_A lovesick idiot spending all his free time at a stranger’s coffee shop, no wonder Phil needed to get him off his back._

He hates that it can hurt this much, and he keeps pumping the lies into his own brain that he and Phil weren’t even best friends or anything more than that. He’s aware it’s not true, but he’s never claimed that his coping mechanisms are good.

Maybe it makes it hurt more, not less—but he doesn’t know what else to do. 

It pours and pours in London. Dan keeps his windows shut tight to keep the rain out. Dark, stormy dreams mirror the weather and leave him restless. It’s like he’s back to square one, but in a sick twisted universe where he’s able to pump out page after page of prose instead of being blocked in his writing. This time, his frustration is turned to heartache, and he feels quite pathetic about it if he’s being honest. 

After a week and a half of cooping himself back up in his flat, he feels as deflated and wilted as his sad little terrarium on his bookshelf. Dan snorts to himself, in that sad and pathetic kind of way, as he notes his succulents are, too, back to how they were before. 

It makes perfect sense, realistically. Dan’s plants starting to thrive when unseasonably bright and sunny weather hits London, and then they sag and cry out for extra care the second the city is grey and drizzly again. It’s mocking really, and Dan can at least find the self deprecating humor in the parallels. 

If things like magic, fantasy, or the supernatural were real, Dan thinks he would have one of those personal floating rainclouds over his head as he mists his terrarium with sagging shoulders. It’s still grey outside. The rain hasn’t let up for days, and he’s honestly quite shocked that the streets haven’t started flooding. 

_Not like he's doing much of going out on the streets lately._

But he decides to give his plants a fighting chance anyways, setting down his mister and gently picking up the glass terrarium. He can set it on the windowsill in his bedroom—he’s typically grumbly at how it gets the most sun in the flat during daylight hours, but right now it’s a better spot for his succulents than his bookshelf in the lounge. 

There’s one more fuck you from the universe though, as Dan’s halfway across his room cradling his terrarium to his chest when his foot gets caught up in one of his pairs of pants on the floor. He trips— _because of course he does—_ and the glass terrarium goes flying out of his hands as his body reacts before his brain, shooting out an arm to his wardrobe to stop himself from falling. 

Dan feels the sound of glass shattering in his heart, mumbling expletives under his breath with his eyes squeezed shut, his palm pressed against the side of his wardrobe. 

_Of fucking course._

Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if he took better care of his plants, if it weren’t raining and grey, and he wasn’t depriving his succulents from the sun and care they needed in his dark cave of an apartment. 

Maybe there wouldn’t be bits of browning green plants scattered in dirt and broken glass on his floor if he had cared enough to at least toss his dirty clothes into his laundry basket. 

Maybe Dan wouldn’t be sobbing against his wardrobe over fucking plants if he wasn’t holing himself up in his flat like a brokenhearted hermit. 

Maybe if he had just rung Phil before hours turned to days and days were turning to weeks… 

Dan sighs as he looks down at the mess he’s made. He wipes at his eyes, thanking a god he doesn’t believe in that he’s wearing socks and hasn’t cut his feet on the shattered glass as he steps back out of his room. He swipes his phone off the bookshelf where it was abandoned and scrolls, then taps call as he makes his way into the kitchen. 

The phone rings, trapped between his ear and his right shoulder as he opens a cabinet and sifts through his collection of mugs. 

“Hey, it’s Dan.” He clears his throat, locating the mug he wants and pulling it out. “Yeah, I know, it’s been a while since I called.” Dan gets an earful as he exits the kitchen and pads back into his room. 

“Listen I have a question,” he says interrupting the voice on the other line as he kneels down by the pile of dirt, glass, and destroyed succulents. The phone is put on speaker and set down beside him, so he can scoop some of the scattered dirt into the mug. 

“Go ahead.” 

Dan sighs, pulling a piece of glass out of the bit of dirt he’s filled the mug with. He reaches for the only salvageable plant left, his little stubby cactus—uprooted and on its side on Dan’s floor. It pricks his fingers as he picks it up and gently plants it into the mug, but Dan barely flinches at the pain. 

“Is that spare office still up for grabs?” he asks as he pushes at the dirt around the bottom of the cactus. 

Dan holds the mug up to his face, examining his shoddy work. A sad looking cactus planted in a chipped old mug, snug in soil filled with little shards of glass. 

“It’s all yours if you want it, Daniel.” 

“I think I do.” 

The surviving cactus is set down on Dan’s windowsill. The mess on his floor is stepped around three times—as he goes and gets his mister, coming back to water the lone cactus, and then closing his bedroom door behind him as he leaves his room once again. 

_He can deal with the mess later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0biHc1ZQYSyoNVF3fwjJ5A?si=0nu2r2eXR4iklO_M9kCC7g) link. It's truly become my go to car jams at this point, I hope y'all enjoy it as well!  
> i've had a busy brain lately and I noticed I forgot to link this amazing [ art](https://twitter.com/ZoeNmason1/status/1225517642540298245?s=20) last update and  
> [this art](https://twitter.com/liorsnotonfire/status/1230206644921012225?s=20) as well. Y'all really do be making me cry.  
> Also if anyone would like to speak about irl phil buying clear glasses and a rainbow gay coffee jumper i'm ALL EARS phil if u are a reader pls stop it but also pls get real clear glasses


	11. Chapter 11

_Why would anyone in their right mind face the desk towards the door in an office with such big windows?_

It’s the first, and only, thing Dan does to customize the small office space he’s given. He groans as he pushes at one end of the desk, until the carpet underneath has an indented trail and he’s able to roll the desk chair back into its rightful spot—now facing directly out the window. 

There isn’t much to see beyond the row of similar office buildings on the opposite side of the street. And it’s raining—it’s always raining. But the view is nicer than the closed door with the tiny rectangular pane of glass looking out to identical closed doors, so the bit of a sweat Dan breaks from rearranging the furniture is worth it. 

Dan glares out at the grey, damp city once he’s settled in the chair, his laptop out on the desk. He snorts as he stops the “ _O_ _h bother”_ on his tongue, _a very typical Dan feeling as of late._

Two weeks turn to three, and three creeps slowly into four. Dan makes routine of actually working in an office during relatively normal hours—like a real bonafide adult—the consistency and mundanity leaving him as washed out as the endless rain. 

It’s just okay. 

Not spectacular, not horrific. Just alright. 

Dan writes as deadlines loom, and surprisingly the face to face nagging of his editor spurs him on instead of making him retreat—and he does get out a few apologies over past ignored calls and emails.

There’s a metaphor there he doesn’t care to write. Some sort of lesson about avoidance he doesn’t care to learn. Well, at least, one he doesn’t care to apply to any aspect of his life other than work at the moment. 

_Unhealthy,_ he knows. His heart feels it too. But Dan’s nothing if not stubborn, especially when he’s heartbroken. _Especially_ , when he’s confused. 

So he continues to pour everything he has into his work, the clickety-clack of his keyboard singing with the patter of rain and the Fleetwood Mac playlist he found on Spotify. It’s the fifth one he’s tested out and it feels just a bit off—much like the others. The curation isn’t up to par, but he can’t seem to work without it softly filling the small, bland office space, so it’ll have to do. 

_Maybe Dan’s a bit of a masochist. A stubborn, stupid, masochist._

He could text. He could call. _Hell,_ he could swing by the coffee shop— _maybe_ , jury’s still out if that’s even possible anymore. Dan isn’t sure what’s possible anymore, there’s too many things that seem so impossible, unbelievable, illogical, im-

 _He digresses_. The point is, he does none of those things. Dan makes his way to the offices in the mornings, he writes, he breaks for lunch at a corporate chain café down the street, writes some more, goes home, and goes back to sleep. It’s easy, methodical, and it leaves an incredibly small amount of room for any more heartache. 

It’s safe and incredibly mundane, absolutely nothing about it is out of the ordinary. 

And it’s just okay. 

Dan’s sipping watery coffee out of a plain white mug that doesn’t belong to him when the rain finally breaks. He’s suspicious of it at first, peering over his laptop screen out the big office window with a squint and a feeling of trepidation. Sunny skies don’t last long here, and his eyes flick back and forth from the screen to the window every few minutes, waiting for the rays of sun to be kicked out by gloomy clouds once again. 

Needless to say he’s surprised when it doesn’t pass after ten minutes, or even an hour. 

His Friday goes by quickly, in a bit of giddy excitement with every glance out the window to something other than grey skies and drizzle. And so he thinks that’s why he does it. The sun bringing with it spontaneity and a boldness Dan hasn’t felt in weeks. 

_Well, maybe not that bold._

Maybe just bold enough to hop on a different line instead of the one he usually takes home, leaving him on a familiar street that makes his stomach tie up in knots. 

_Definitely not that bold._

The pavement is damp under Dan’s feet, he feels the wetness seeping through his trainers from the puddles he doesn’t care to dodge, but warm sun is shining on his face. His head stays up, looking up the street instead of down at his feet, as he convinces himself he can keep walking this path instead of turning around. 

_He so desperately wants to turn around._

But he also so desperately wants to know. The answer to a question that’s been lingering in the forefront of his mind for weeks now. The answer that’s just at his fingertips if he keeps walking forward. 

The answer that he knows—he’s more than well aware—will open up the floor to ten more questions either way. But he needs to know. 

The coffee shop is magnetic and Dan can’t resist, his feet taking him up the pavement far too quick for his unsure, anxious mind. Before he knows it, his pace is slowing and he’s stopped in front of the familiar storefront. 

_Familiar._

Because that’s what it is. It’s right there, just as it was, like it was never gone. Dan’s eyebrows tug together as he looks up.

_Because it was never gone._

Lettering he’s committed to memory, beside it the familiar shadow of a witch, leaning over her brewing mug of coffee. Dan smiles, because he can’t help it. It’s endearing and witty and incredibly _Phil._

_Phil._

There’s the faintest smell of coffee in the air as Dan pauses in front of the storefront. He feels that pulling, deep in his chest, and if it weren’t so silly he would say he’s having to actively plant his feet to the ground to keep himself from being tugged forward. 

Blue eyes, deep laughs, shimmering glasses, soft hands. Dan floats in his own mind, an admittedly dangerous thing to do. Looking down from the shop’s sign overhead, he goes a bit blurry around the edges as he sees Phil so clearly through the glass of the windows. 

He’s holding a hand out to someone sat in the plush burgundy chair by the fire. Patchouli fills Dan’s nose, stronger than the coffee, and he realizes he’s looking at himself. Phil tilts his head back, but Dan doesn’t hear the sound of his laugh. The Dan he’s watching shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he says something in return. He’s not sure what it is. Dan’s heart feels warm anyway. 

He takes Phil’s hand, is pulled up from his seat, and then, suddenly, all Dan sees is his own reflection. Dan shakes his head, his eyes squeezed shut tight before blinking a few times. 

He only sees his reflection. 

He sighs, it’s deep and a bit dejected, only weighing his shoulders down more as he breathes in again and realizes the comforting scent of the shop was all in his head. It was all in his head. 

_Why hasn’t Phil called?_

_Why should it be up to Dan?_

_Does it even matter?_ He’s left it far too long, he has no one to blame but himself. 

Dan crosses his arms as he squints at his reflection, messy unkempt hair to match the wrinkly creases in his tee shirt. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and tugs, peeling a dry bit of skin from his always chapped lips as he starts to stew in a bubbling concoction of anger and regret. 

_Dan: king of hindsight, chancellor of living a romanticized reality in his own head._

_Coward,_ he thinks to himself as it starts to drizzle, rain slowly pattering against his shoulders. Once again, he has his laptop in his very much _not_ waterproof backpack on his shoulders, but he picks his lead feet up off the ground and starts to jog down the street. 

Confusion settles into a dull throb behind his left eye and it’s really only rain on his face as he runs, ducking and shaking the soaking hair out of his eyes as he enters the Underground. It’s far from cold outside, and it’s especially balmy on the train, yet Dan feels chilled to the bone as he waits for his stop in soaking wet clothes. 

He pouts the whole ride, feeling like he’s teetering on the edge of a whiny kind of childish anger as he just wants to get home. It was stupid of him to stop by the café. He knows it. Apparently the universe knows it as well, punishing him in some sort of sadistic karma. 

Of course it’s still raining when he gets off at his street, _because that’s simply Dan’s life_. And Dan watches his wet trainers on wet pavement as he walks towards his building, the rain pelting down on him not making things better nor worse—he’s already completely soaked. _What’s a bit more?_

There’s a few silent prayers to the state of his electronics in his bag as he steps up to his building and pulls his damp keys out of the damp front pocket of his bag. 

Rubber squeaks on concrete, echoing in the stairwell as he runs the few flights up to his floor. He just wants to be _home._

_Dry. Under a mountain of blankets. Preferably a warm mug of tea. Maybe a splash of whisky._

Dan’s chest heaves from the exertion, he catches his breath as he approaches his door, fiddling with his keys. There’s a cough—not from Dan _—_ and he looks up. 

Water from a curl plastered to his forehead drips into his eye and he answers the cough with a short, disbelieving huff. Nothing is ever as it seems anymore, Dan knows as much, so he stares at the rainbow color-blocked hummingbird on Phil’s chest until the mirage goes away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i've been a bit blocked and burnt out with this story lately, i still love her all the same.  
> [playlist linky](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0biHc1ZQYSyoNVF3fwjJ5A?si=fCVaRYQmSLeitJ9UoyMVWQ)


	12. Chapter 12

It doesn’t go away. 

Dan’s breath catches in his throat, he feels lightheaded as the exertion from running up the stairs catches up with him. He stutters, remembers to breathe back out—and then in again—as he searches Phil’s eyes. 

Phil’s had a hair cut. It’s shorter at the sides and the top is less floppy. Dan isn’t sure if it’s the stark white lighting of his building’s hallway or if the image of Phil in his mind has faded over the past month, but it looks a few shades lighter—more warm ginger seeping its way into the brown. He wants to run his fingers through it, it looks so soft and it’s a little bit _too_ perfectly in place. It could use a teasing ruffle to make it look a bit more _Phil._

It’s not like a fresh haircut is making Phil _not_ look like Phil. He’s right there, as Phil as ever. Glasses the slightest bit crooked. Eyes appropriately unreadable, but with pursed lips and his hands shoved in his pockets at an odd, uncomfortable looking angle that easily conveys the nervous energy he’s trying to hide. Because, _yeah,_ in such a short amount of time knowing each other, and an almost equal amount of radio silence from both parties, Dan can somehow read _these_ parts of Phil like an open book. 

It’s almost like a slap in the face. Dan would call it a bucket of cold water above his head, but he’s already dripping head to toe from the rain and he doesn’t quite appreciate the irony right now. 

He shivers as Phil looks at him with trepidation. Something on Dan’s face must resemble a frightened rabbit about to bolt at any move, because Phil is slow and deliberate as he brings his hand up to run through his quiff—not taking his eyes off Dan. 

“Da-”

Dan’s talking over him before Phil can even finish his name. “Did you come for your stuff? I ca-” 

“No,” Phil ends the interruption game with an authoritative tone that stops Dan with his tongue against his teeth and his mouth still open. He closes it as Phil steps a pace closer, his features soft but still unreadable. “I didn’t come to get anything back.” 

Dan’s breath is in his throat. He’s overwhelmed by a lot of things, all of them stemming from Phil finally right in front of him again. He swallows and doesn't break their stare, watching the blue, green, and yellow of Phil’s eyes swirl. There’s a squeezing, crushing feeling in his chest, he’s ready for it to come full force any second now. 

Dan shivers again, and this time it isn’t from his soaking, freezing clothes. 

“Except maybe _you_?” It’s small, a whisper, and Phil’s eyes drop down for the first time since Dan had looked up. 

Dan’s a little mad. A little sad. A lot confused. But mostly, he’s just filled with regret—regret and disappointment in himself as he looks at Phil looking down at their shoes on the ugly beige carpeting of the hallway. 

_Why did Dan have to be so stubborn?_

Why didn’t he just ring Phil, _go see Phil_ , before days turned into weeks, he wonders to himself as he shifts his gaze from the top of Phil’s head to their shoes. Dan’s sodden trainers look pitiful in comparison to Phil’s dry ones, and he watches a droplet of water from his hair fall and drop to the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” they both say, in unison, causing both of their heads to snap up. A shared giggle fills the hall and a spark flickers to life in Dan’s heart. 

“I-” they both start again once giggles are contained, only starting them up again as they both stop their thoughts. 

Dan gestures to the door behind Phil. “Come on inside, I really should get out of these clothes.” He pinches at his tee shirt that’s clinging to his chest. It feels as though no time has passed when one of Phil’s perfectly arched brows quirks up, a smirk pulling across his mouth. 

“Sh- shut up!” Dan snorts, batting at Phil’s shoulder and pushing him out of the way so he can shove his key in the door. 

“What? I was going to offer my help.” 

This only earns another huff from Dan, he pushes open his door with a smug smile on his face. 

_God, he’s missed Phil._

“Not like that!” Phil squeaks. Dan turns around in the doorway, a hand on his hip as he gives Phil a _disappointed but not surprised_ once over. 

“I can… _well._ ” Phil furrows his brow and bites his lip as he pauses. Dan tries to push away the thoughts that bubble to the surface, the ones that are _definitely not being helped_ by Phil insinuating he would like to assist Dan in taking his clothes off. 

He really should be more mad, more put out, asking for some sort of explanation or giving his own apology instead of thinking about getting Phil in his bed. But well, can anyone really blame him when Phil has the audacity to look like _this,_ all while still being just as charming and endearing and absolutely _magnetic_ as usual? 

“Let me just… show you.” Phil takes a tentative step forward and Dan steps back. Not to get away from Phil, of course not, but to let him into his flat. He hears the door shut behind Phil, though he’s too busy looking at the glistening colors in Phil’s eyes to notice that no one exactly pushed it shut. 

He does though, make two important— _at least, important to Dan—_ observations. 

Maybe less important: there’s no shimmering glitter that Dan loves in the frames of Phil’s glasses, they’re simply a plain clear—nothing unique about them. 

And maybe more important: Phil’s eyes aren’t giving him that sultry, dark look that he would expect when someone is literally _insinuating they’d like to help him out of his clothes._

That throws Dan off, enough so that he’s not ready nor expecting it when Phil’s hand wraps around his elbow—a warming heat instantly spreading throughout his body from the contact. Dan can’t help it, he melts into the touch, and he’s sure Phil’s grip tightening is only out of reflex to keep Dan upright. It’s the only thing keeping him from melting right into the floor as his body goes lax.

“Oh!” Phil giggles. He loosens his grip to rub his hand up and down Dan’s bicep. Dan feels warm and floaty, Phil is giggling, and he has no clue why either of those things are happening. “Haven’t done that in a while, made you a bit frizzy,” Phil says with a pout and an adorably scrunchy nose as he steps back. He looks Dan up and down in a way that would send a shiver down Dan’s spine if he wasn’t so _warm._

_Why is he so warm?_

He doesn’t remember turning the heat up before he left his flat… 

“Huh?” Dan finally says, a bit dazed as the cloud around his brain starts to evaporate. 

“Bit frizzy,” Phil repeats, reaching a hand out. He stops himself a few centimeters from Dan’s head, brows tugging together as he seems to realize it’s probably not something he should do. Dan makes the choice for Phil, stepping forward before he can drop his hand. 

The crease between Phil’s brows smooths, he gets a sheepish grin, and long pale fingers thread into dry, frizzy curls. 

_Dry,_ frizzy curls _._

_What the fuck?_

Dan, apparently, says this realization aloud, the fingers in his hair pausing and Phil stepping away with a frown pulling down the corners of his mouth. 

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked.” 

“No.” Dan tries to gather his mind, make sense of the nonsensical. “What the fuck? _How_ the fuck?”

Phil sighs, he pushes up his glasses to pinch at the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed, then lets them fall back down, a bit askew as always. Dan wants to step forward, reach out and fix them, it’s like his mind and body aren’t on the same wavelength—the one where he knows he _can’t_ do that anymore. 

“Dan, I told you. I’m a witch.” 

Phil says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like it's the most casual thing he’s ever said. Like he’s telling Dan his coffee order and not that he has-

“It’s magic. I can do magic.” 

If Dan wasn’t already stopped in his tracks, feet bolted to his hardwood floor, that would’ve done it. But for some reason, he feels light and airy instead of heavy—an odd feeling clouding his mind _and_ body—and Phil’s words bring with them an anxious energy Dan feels like he needs to dispel.

“Phil, I don’t get it,” Dan sighs, turning and stepping further into his flat. His now dry backpack is dropped next to the sofa with a soft thud that feels too loud for the quiet of the room—the only other sounds being the soft pattering of rain against the window and the ringing in Dan’s ears.

Dan rubs a hand down his face and breathes out a long, loud breath. “Why’d you come here if you’re just going to keep playing this game?” he asks in a small, pleading voice. He’s never felt so pathetic. 

“What are you talking about? I’m not-” 

“This whole,” Dan spins on his heel to gesticulate at Phil, “trying to make me think I’ve lost my mind so you can get me out of your hair! You successfully ran me off with that whole production of changing your store front. I got the memo Phil, what I don’t get is why you’re coming back to rub salt in the wounds. You don’t need to keep lying to me.” 

“I’m not-”

“It doesn’t make sense! _Magic,”_ Dan scoffs, not letting Phil get a word in as he starts to pace. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just tell me that you don’t feel the same way, that I needed to stop spending so much time around you? I would have listened! It would have saved me a lot of confusion, you know. I don’t like being lied to.” 

“Dan.” Phil finally raises his voice to match Dan’s and it stops him in his tracks. “I’m _not_ lying to you. Not now at least, not that night. For fuck’s sake I just steamed all the moisture out of your clothes in three seconds, what more do I need to do to prove to you that I’m telling the truth?!” 

Dan’s mouth goes dry as he’s rendered speechless. He honestly thinks he’d rather remain ignorant and stubborn than let Phil’s words fully permeate his brain. Phil telling the truth makes more sense than Dan’s twisted theory full of holes… but Dan doesn’t want to accept that. He doesn’t want to have to accept a world in which magic being real is the most obvious explanation. It isn’t. It can’t be. 

“What do I need to do Dan?” Phil repeats himself, his voice still sharp and incredibly un-Phil. “Because I stayed away and I just… I can’t do that anymore. I shouldn’t have told you to go away to begin with. And I’m sorry, I was scared. It’s hard for me to understand just how impossible and unbelievable magic may seem to you, but I’m trying okay? How can I show you I’m not lying?” Phil’s eyes are stern, but pleading. Almost sad. It cracks Dan’s already fragile heart in two. 

“If you’re going to tell me to fuck off, I at least want you to accept the truth,” Phil adds with a sigh, his voice softer as he breaks their stare, looking down as he wrings his hands. Dan’s mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out. 

“Do I need to make the sun come out?” Phil shouts, startling Dan. Phil’s head shoots back up with a determined glare Dan has never seen before as he throws his hand out towards the windows behind Dan. 

Dan takes a step back as Phil takes a few forward.

“Or just make it come out of my hand?” Phil holds his palm out to Dan’s face, a dazzling bright light blinding him, a heat Dan’s never felt before making droplets of sweat pool at his temples before it disappears completely. 

He steps back again, blinking as white specks of light get smaller and smaller until he can see again.

“Do you want a rose?” A single red rose is pinched between Phil’s fingers and he follows Dan, holding it out to him. 

When Dan doesn’t take it— _because obviously he doesn’t, he’s not even sure he can move anything but his feet with the shock that's taking over his body—_ Phil cocks his head at the flower in his hand, then looks back up at Dan. “Do you want a different color?” 

Dan can’t even blink as the rose shifts from red to orange to white. It goes black, and then it’s gone from Phil’s hand.

“Or should I make my _hair_ a different color?” Phil’s fingers fly through his quiff and suddenly chestnut is fading to blonde. Then white. Then a bright, candy floss pink. 

“Should I make _your_ hair pink?” Phil steps forward again, causing Dan to step back—his legs hitting his sofa and pinning him between it and Phil. Phil’s hand tangles in Dan’s hair, and—despite the way Dan’s heart is beating out of his chest, despite the way every single bone in his body is kicking into fight or flight mode—Dan steps forward as Phil’s fingers tighten in his curls, pressing them chest to chest. 

“What do you need me to do?” Phil says softly, a stark contrast to his loud, booming voice a few seconds ago. It sounds almost pained. “I could make it snow in your flat. I could take us halfway across the world in five seconds. I can do _anything_ your mind thinks up, so what can I do to make you believe me?”

Phil loosens his grip on Dan’s curls, his hand gently sliding down the side of Dan’s face as their chests heave against each other. “ _Please_.”

Dan finally lets himself look up at Phil’s face, staring back into his eyes a nose length apart. His skin feels electric under Phil’s hand and his face feels magnetic as the room falls silent. No rain, no ringing in his ears—just Phil’s rapid breath in time with his own.

Dan doesn’t fight it, he can’t, letting his forehead drop against Phil’s. Their noses bump, and the tingling feeling from Phil’s hand takes over his entire body. 

Dan’s never been more terrified in his entire life. Everything’s been tipped the wrong way up, but Dan thinks they’ve been like that for a while. 

_Forever, probably._

Dan’s just been too ignorant and oblivious to see it. 

It’s all been real. Everything he saw—everything he didn’t see—and explained away... was real. As real as him and Phil standing here, in the middle of his flat, nose to nose. Every bone in his body, every fiber in his very soul, every logical and rational thought in his brain is sending off alarm bells, telling him it’s a hoax, a dream, anything but the reality that’s smacking him in the face. 

The reality that magic is real and Phil has it. Phil is a witch. With magic. And he’s standing right in front of Phil as real as the floor under his feet and the roof over his head. He’d laugh if he didn’t feel like he’s about to cry. 

“This is… overwhelming,” he breathes out, voice shaking with the weight of it all.

_Phil can do magic._

“I’m sorry. That was too much.” Phil frowns, trying to step away, but Dan reaches up, grabbing his wrist to keep it on his cheek. He’s not sure about much of anything right now, but if there’s one thing he’s sure of it’s that he’ll float away if he lets go of Phil. 

“I practiced all the words I would say, how I could apologize to you, but then it’s like you were right in front of me and my brain lost the battle with my magic. I won’t… I won’t blow up on you like that again.” Phil rubs his thumb against Dan’s cheek. Dan leans into it, putty in Phil’s hands. “If there even is an again…” 

“Phil. Shut up. I don’t want you to go. I’m just an idiot, it was right there in front of me this entire time and instead of running towards you I ran away. I’m too stubborn for my own good, it’s not that I _couldn’t_ believe I… I didn’t want to. And I’m sorry.” 

“You shouldn’t be apologizing, I ran away too.” Phil sighs. “I’m the one who tried to hide this huge part of myself from you.” 

“N-”

“Okay,” Phil brings his other hand up to hold Dan’s face fully, “can we at least agree that we’re _both_ scared, and we’re both sorry?” 

Dan nods. “We’re both idiots.”

Phil huffs, a smile finally cracking on his face. Dan’s missed it so much. 

“Definitely idiots.” 

“I missed you so much,” Dan says as he lets the corner of his own mouth tug upwards. He pulls away, only the slightest bit to take a grounding breath. His eyes flick up now that their foreheads aren’t pressed together and he bites back his laughter. “But I cannot take you seriously right now with that hair.” 

“Oh,” Phil giggles, “Forgot.” He bites his lip as his eyes shift up from Dan’s and then he takes his hands off Dan’s face. Bright pink fades before Dan’s very eyes, Phil taking both of his hands and mussing up his shifting quiff. When he pulls them away it’s tousled and messy, but unmistakably that light gingery brown Dan is more used to. 

“That’s _so_ fucked up Phil,” Dan muses, stepping back only so he can sit on the arm of the sofa behind him. 

_Because if he’s being honest his legs feel like jell-o._

Concern flashes across Phil’s eyes, but Dan is shaking his head before it can get any sadder. “Like - not in a bad way. I _guess._ It’s just… what the _fuck,_ Phil?” Dan wipes his hands down his face again as he speaks, the hysterical laughter he’s trying to keep a lid on bubbles out as his brain processes—or doesn’t process _—_ the absolute absurdity that is his life. He’s in a movie, or a book he hasn’t written himself, this can’t be real. 

He falls back against the sofa with a soft thud, clutching his stomach as he laughs and laughs until tears are threatening to fall from his eyes. 

“Should I like… call someone?” Phil asks in an amused tone. Dan wipes at his eyes and looks up to see Phil now standing at the side of the sofa, looming over him. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay. I- I don’t know why I’m laughing,” Dan says through tears, pushing himself up and patting the spot next to him on the sofa for Phil to take. “This is all just so ridiculous. I think you’ve broken my brain.” 

Phil sits down next to him, looking at him with an amused smile. “No more magic until your brain can catch up,” he says as he holds up his hands.

Dan snorts, but honestly he appreciates the gesture. He’s not sure if his brain will ever catch up. The corners of Phil’s eyes crinkle with his smile and that tugging, yearning feeling in his heart that he didn’t even realize has been there finally settles. 

“I really missed you,” he says in a small voice once his laughter subsides. 

Phil leans over, bumping their shoulders together. “I really missed you too.”

  
  


“We should talk…” 

Phil makes a soft noise of protest and it melts Dan’s heart. 

_Not like it wasn’t goo already._

“Really. I’m like, exceptionally good at avoiding my problems without someone enabling me…” Dan bites his lip, his voice far too soft for his words. That’s just the effect Phil has on him. 

“I know. You’re right-”

“Love to hear that,” Dan interrupts. 

“Be quiet!” Phil giggles. “This is just really nice, can we stay like this for a little longer? How about I make you a tea or something?” 

“Phil, you can’t host me in my own home.” Dan rolls his eyes, leaning further into Phil’s shoulder. 

They’ve been sat on the sofa like this for a while now, just leaning into each other while Dan rubs his thumb against the back of Phil’s hand. Not really saying or talking about much of anything, just sitting with each other and taking it all in. 

_Dan really needs this._

Not knowing what to say or think is much less stressful when he’s given the opportunity to just… not. It’s good, simply sitting with Phil in a comfortable quiet as he processes. He doesn’t want to agree with Phil, he knows they need to talk. But he would like to stay like this, just for now, just a bit longer. Because, _hell,_ does Dan have about three million questions running through his mind and he doesn’t even know which one to start with. 

Phil laughs, it’s loud and melodic and it fills Dan’s flat with something he didn’t even know was missing. “Fine, can I make _us_ tea or something? No magic, I promise. I know how to make tea like you normies.” 

“ _Hey.”_ Dan moves his hand from where it’s tangled with Phil’s to his knee, squeezing in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. “I’m not like anti _...magic,”_ he whispers the word like it’s something he shouldn’t be saying, kind of disproving his point. 

_Listen, he’s at least trying._

“You just spooked me a bit.”

Phil gives him a look. 

“Okay, a lot.” Dan laughs and Phil mutters a soft, " _sorry."_

“Feel free to ping, or whatever it is that you do, to your heart’s desire.”

Phil’s head turns, looking up from Dan’s hand on his knee, eyes wide. “Really?”

“I don’t mind, really. It’s something I need to get used to, right?” Dan cocks his head with a smile. He watches as Phil’s eyes visibly brighten, that big, kind of lopsided smile Dan’s missed so much making a return. He pulls away from Dan, leaning forward to grab a steaming mug off of Dan’s coffee table. 

_Wait, what?_

“Okay, might take a bit to get used to that.” Dan mutters as Phil passes the mug to him and then grabs the second that’s _magically_ appeared on the table for himself. 

_Because, what the fuck, Phil is magic!_

Phil giggles. “Sorry.” His knee bumps into Dan’s as he sips his tea. Dan sips his as well—it’s the perfect temperature, not too bitter, and not too sweet. He sighs, content. 

“How about dinner, though?” 

Dan snorts. “One, stop it-”

“Hey, I’m just making up for lost time!” 

“ _Two,”_ Dan rolls his eyes, smiling, “how about delivery? I think this” he lifts his mug, “needs some more time to process before you go zapping in a five course meal.” 

“I was going to suggest Domino's.” Phil shrugs, a sly grin on his face.

“ _Oh_ ,” Dan says softly.

“Yeah,” Phil says even softer. Dan watches as Phil tugs at his lip between his teeth, watches as it pings back into place when he releases it—a little puffy, _very_ pink. He’s never wanted to kiss someone so badly. 

_But then again, he’s always felt that way around Phil._

Dan sighs. He can’t believe he’s just found out that magic is real, yet the only question he wants to know the answer to has nothing to do with magic at all. 

“Pizza, then we can talk?” Phil pulls him back to reality and Dan doesn’t give a second thought to how warm his cheeks feel. Phil probably thinks the red in his cheeks are permanent from how often he finds himself blushing around him. 

Dan nods. “I’d like that, yeah.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always here's the [playlist link](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0biHc1ZQYSyoNVF3fwjJ5A?si=n2pktSWPQFqvRCjLqf6Xrw)  
> and omg, check out [this art](https://twitter.com/pjsforestkid/status/1242962393195524098?s=20) Gretchen made!!!!!!!


	13. Chapter 13

There’s something warm and settled in the center of Dan’s chest at the normalcy of sharing a space with Phil again. Nothing should feel normal about it, nothing _is_ normal about it, but he tries not to dwell on that. He’s been more than enough stubborn and sad over the past few weeks to lean in to any more negative thoughts. 

If he tries to overanalyze and question all of the impossible things floating through his head, it starts to throb—so he doesn’t. It’s not avoidance, not yet at least. It’s just nice. 

He’d quite like for it to just be nice for now. 

The patter of rain against Dan’s window is only barely heard over the playlist Phil put on as they exchange soft, superficial conversation over dinner. It would feel completely ordinary if Dan wasn’t increasingly worried about the security of his bluetooth speaker—Phil simply giggling, brushing off the awed shock on Dan’s face with a, “ _Is it really all that different from saying ‘Hey Google’?”_

_Yes, yes it absolutely is._

But Dan doesn’t dwell, he tries really fucking hard to not dwell. He pushes the questions away and lets it be nice. 

Dinner with Phil. Soft music. The light tapping of rain. 

With the sun dropping lower in the sky, Dan pushes himself up off the couch and flicks on a few soft lights. He looks over at Phil on his sofa when he pops back up from plugging in his string lights, the smile is automatic. 

“I’ll be right back.” Dan jabs a thumb towards the hall—he’s not really sure why. 

_Or, well, of course he does. He’s painfully awkward._

Phil nods, unfolding his crossed legs on the sofa, “I’ll clear this up-”

“Phil, you don’t have-” 

“Shh,” Phil shushes him as he stands up, grabbing the box of pizza and Dan’s small tower of empty dip cups. “I’ll even do it your way. No magic, it’s fun!” 

Dan shakes his head, rolling his eyes before turning down the hall. 

“You’re weird…” he drawls out as he steps away. 

Phil’s voice is quick to shout after him, “You like weird, right?”

Dan huffs, pausing in front of the bathroom door. “I do,” he calls, earning a small giggle just barely heard over the music playing throughout the flat. 

It shouldn’t be normal, right? For all of this to be so easy to fall back into. For easy banter about how Phil thinks it’s _fun_ to throw out rubbish without _magic._

_Dan’s way._

Because Phil isn’t like Dan, not really at all. It’s honestly a bit distressing for Dan to think about as he shuts the bathroom door behind him—how different they really are. How he really doesn’t know the first thing about Phil. Does he even know anything about Phil? 

Phil has pretty blue eyes and one of the brightest smiles Dan has ever encountered. He likes nerdy television shows and little knick knacks, and thrives when he can smother others in hospitality. Phil has a cat and too many houseplants and also Dan’s heart. 

But Phil is… Magic. Phil is so different from Dan in ways he couldn’t even imagine mere hours ago. He still can’t imagine them. Dan’s still waiting for the other pin to drop. 

The one where he rubs his eyes and realizes none of this is real at all. Phil being a figment of his imagination is seeming more believable than what’s really going on. 

But Phil _is_ real. Dan knows that. A solid, living and breathing human body whose knee was just bumping against Dan’s on the couch minutes before. 

But is Phil even… _Can Dan even call him human?_

_Is that how this works?_

Dan doesn’t know how any of this works. 

_Who even is Phil?_

_What even is there to believe?_

Despite how unbelievable this all is, Dan saw the impossible right before his very eyes. And that’s something he’s going to have to accept. 

_Somehow._

It’s funny, you think you know so much about someone, only to find out you really know nothing at all. _But had he really known that much to begin with?_

One existential pee later, Dan sighs and turns on the tap to wash his hands. 

He lathers up, looks up from his hands to the mirror, and promptly screams. 

It’s not pretty or playful or anything of the sort. It’s a noise of genuine shock as he sees his reflection in the mirror for the first time. 

Dan doesn’t know whether to laugh, or cry, or rub his eyes. Maybe he does a bit of all three. He reaches a wet hand up to his head, tugging at the fluffy curls to make sure they are indeed actually attached to his head. 

They are. 

He rubs at his eyes again, for good measure. But what he’s seeing is reality. Apparently. 

Because what the _fuck_ has been reality lately? 

_Hell if Dan knows._

“ _Phiiiiiiiiil!_ ”

The high, whine of a yell fills Dan’s flat as he twists the tap handles off and dashes out of the bathroom and down the hall with a purpose.

A man on a mission. 

That mission may or may not involve murdering one Phil… 

_How the hell are you supposed to yell someone’s full name in reprimand if you don’t even know it?_

Dan brushes that particular woe aside, making a beeline for the kitchen when he steps out into the lounge—the space void of any magical men who somehow, for whatever reason, think it might be funny to turn Dan’s hair a bright pastel pink. 

He finds him standing by the side of the fridge, two refilled glasses in his hands. And when Dan realizes what Phil’s staring so intently at, his entire demeanor softens. The anger that really was never there in the first place fizzles out like Phil’s that last splash of water on its dying embers. 

“You kept these?” Phil’s voice is soft, a hushed awe that almost makes Dan forget why he stormed into the kitchen in the first place. 

_Almost._

But Phil’s turning around, that same awe reflected in the dancing blue-green-yellow of his eyes. Dan just shrugs, the corner of his mouth lifting up in the beginnings of a bashful smile. The blush taking over the entirety of his face is absolutely nothing new around Phil, yet that seems to never stop it from feeling like the first time anyway. 

_He always feels so absolutely new around Phil._

“Can I show you something?” Phil asks, like it’s not even a question, stepping to the side to place the glasses on the countertop. He tugs Dan closer by the wrist when he moves back, standing them shoulder to shoulder in front of the side of Dan’s fridge. 

Among the sea of short, discombobulated magnet poems and half of a shopping list scribbled on a magnetic pad are the sticky name tags Dan got in the habit of slapping onto the side of the fridge upon getting home from book club nights. They’re right in the middle of it all, a focal point that Dan’s honestly been ignoring the past few weeks. 

His eyes flick away for a moment, to the note towards the top left—next to a slew of magnets Dan smushed together to spell out: **FUCK THE VOID**. Dan is suddenly thankful that Phil’s finger is tapping at the name tags in the center, not giving the more embarrassing memento—the handwritten note written in blue glitter—the time of day. 

_Maybe Dan’s a sentimental sap, though he’d deny it if anyone asked._

“You never saw how these usually look. We’re all, well…” Phil flicks his wrist, a small trail of glittery light flourishing with the movement. It makes Dan jump, just a small intake of breath as it disappears as quickly as it came. 

“Oh! Sorry.” Phil turns, looking at Dan with apologetic eyes. 

Dan brushes it off to the best of his ability. It’s something he needs to get used to, even if it kind of actually scares the absolute shit out of him. 

“All of you?” Dan asks, going back to Phil’s previous words—the point he was trying to make. Phil’s hand, the one still wrapped around Dan’s wrist, slides down and gives Dan’s hand a quick squeeze as he takes it in his own. He nods, looking at Dan with wide searching eyes and a soft, tentative smile for a moment, before turning his head back to the side of the fridge. 

“Em really thought she was being subtle.” Phil smiles, a little huff of a laugh leaving his lips as he trails his fingers over a few of the tags. The sharpie doodles come to life with the touch, animating around Dan’s name in a way that sends a chill down his spine. 

Dan feels a small squeeze at his hand again, but he’s too fixated on the comet shooting right off the white and blue tag, fizzling out against the steel surface of his fridge, to pay it any mind. Stars dance and twinkle and Dan wonders once again if he’s lost his mind or is living in a daydream. 

Under a different tag, one that now has flowing water falling over Dan’s name from the spout of a watering can, Phil presses his fingers to the empty spot. Dan blinks and suddenly the spot below it is no longer empty. New but not unfamiliar, Phil’s name settled amongst a blossoming garden. Sharpie flowers grow tall as drops of water fall from the name tag above. 

“Pretty,” Dan hums. 

Phil makes a noise of agreement, then lifts their joined hands. He slides his fingers out from between Dan’s but doesn’t drop it, instead gently stretching Dan’s fingers out and holding them up to the stream of sharpie doodled water. 

A gasp fills the room, Dan’s chest tightening as he feels a few ice cold wet drops on his hand. It’s over in what feels like both an instant and an hour, a tingle spreading through Dan’s hand as Phil presses both of their hands against the surface of the fridge. The animations—and _actual real fucking water, what the fuck? —_ instantly stopping with the movement. 

“I’m really daft, aren’t I?” Dan says after a thick moment of silence, the wonder in his chest shining through his attempts at playing it cool. 

Everything feels so big and scary and _unreal_. And as much as he wants to be chill, remain calm, it’s definitely not possible. Dan tries, at least, to not make it seem like he’s mere seconds away from either hyperventilating or laying himself down on the kitchen tile to stare up at the ceiling until everything starts to make sense again. 

_He’s quite good at that normally, to be honest._

But this is nowhere near a normal situation and the only thing seemingly keeping him from doing either of those things is the grounding feeling of Phil’s hand still pressed over his own. Dan flips his hand around, and Phil lets him thread their fingers together again. 

“A bit,” Phil answers, their hands swinging between them as they drop from the fridge. “That’s why… well that’s why I was so afraid.” Phil turns and Dan mirrors him, two sets of anxious eyes meeting each other. “I stayed away because I thought you _knew_. I thought you believed me and didn’t want to speak to me or see me because of the whole magic thing. We all weren’t very good at hiding it, we’re not used to it, so I guess for a while it seemed more unrealistic to think you _didn’t_ believe me.” 

“I don’t know what I believed,” Dan mutters, looking down at their feet with a frown. It’s hard to keep the expression looking at Phil’s pink and blue socks—each with a different design, cats and _shrimp?—_ next to Dan’s own plain black ones. 

“I think I thought it was easier to convince myself you actually hated me and wanted me out of your hair than anything that actually made sense,” he sighs. “Nothing really makes sense, though,” Dan adds with a laugh, looking back up to Phil. 

Phil’s mouth is tugged downwards, his brows pulled together in concern. “We’re both a bit daft, huh?” 

Dan hums in agreement, squeezing at Phil’s hand before dropping it. “Come on, let’s go sit down. I think I need a sit if we’re going to not be idiots and actually talk.” Dan steps around to grab the two glasses Phil set down while Phil snorts a, “ _yeah, yeah.”_

But as Dan’s turning back towards Phil, something catches his eye in the reflection of the microwave—causing him to jump. 

“ _Jesusfuckingchrist,_ ” he mutters with the start, then turns to glare daggers at Phil. “ _You.”_ Dan points a glass towards Phil’s chest, Phil stifles a giggle behind his hand. 

_Dan absolutely does not think it is cute._

“I came in here to yell at you!” The soft annoyance in Dan’s voice doing nothing to the façade of anger he’s trying to project. “What did you do to my hair?” 

Phil only erupts into more giggles, holding up both of his hands to cover his face. Dan taps his foot against the floor with a raised brow as Phil tries to pull himself together. With an exasperated sigh, Dan places the glasses back on the counter so he can cross his arms with a huff. Phil’s shoulders shake as he laughs, and when he splits his fingers to peek through them at Dan, it only spurs on more giggles. 

_God, he’s so fucking cute._

“Phiiil,” Dan whines. 

Phil drops his hands from his face, stepping closer to the pouty, crossed-armed Dan. “But you look cute,” he says as his eyes flick up from Dan’s, surveying his own shenanigans with a wide, smug smile. 

The gaze makes Dan’s face heat up, patches of red blooming on his jaw as he clenches it tight to fend off the smile that’s so desperately trying to make an appearance on his face. 

_He’s supposed to be mad, not endeared—god dammit!_

“I don’t think this is really my style.” Dan gestures to his head. “I’m not this adventurous or cool.” 

“You’re so cool,” Phil replies instantly, stepping right into Dan’s personal bubble—their faces dangerously close again. 

Before Dan can open his mouth to protest and insist he’s really actually not, Phil’s hands are threading through his hair. 

“Well, let me know if you’re ever feeling adventurous,” Phil hums. One of Phil’s hands gently massages at the side of Dan’s head, his thumb rubbing small circles as the other fully tangles in his curls. That familiar honey sweet but earthy smell of Phil short-circuits his brain. Dan can’t help but lean into the warm, soothing feeling of it, becoming pliant putty in Phil’s hands. 

Not for the first time in his life, Dan thinks about how if he were a cat he’d be purring. 

Phil just seems to have that effect on him. 

He doesn’t even realize that he’s closed his eyes until he’s blinking them back open, blue looking right into his very soul. 

“Is that how your magic works?” Dan asks in a small voice, shocked that anything other than a low hum—or, _god forbid_ , a groan—leaves his mouth. “I don’t know why I’m even asking, because it’s not like I can wrap my head around any of this anyway,” he starts to babble. “But like, it’s interesting. I’m like shitting bricks right now, but I want to at least try to understand this part of you.” 

Phil runs his hand through Dan’s curls again, pushing them up off his forehead—but Dan doesn’t really care. He doesn’t think twice of it being frizzy and messy or any levels of unattractive when Phil’s shooting him that wide, toothy smile. 

“Nope,” Phil replies with a pop. Dan fixates on how his lips move, how they spring then pull closed to tug into a grin that’s erring on the side of mischievous. Looking up at Phil’s eyes, he sees much of the same. 

“It’s easier when I touch things,” Phil explains before Dan can ask. “Less focus is needed, but I don’t really need to.” He moves his hands from Dan’s hair, letting one of them slide down the side of Dan’s face.

Dan leans into the touch, cocking his head to the side—no shame at all as that magnetic, tingling feeling thrums against his cheek. 

“It’s not necessary,” Phil adds, his voice nothing more than a whisper. 

_Oh, it’s necessary_. 

As they stand there—both unwilling to step out of each other’s spaces, neither caring about heading back into the lounge—Dan feels anything but lost in the moment. 

Phil’s hand on the side of his face. A thumb pressing into the dimple that forms with his fond smile. Crinkling skin at the corner of two blue eyes. 

When everything else feels so unbelievably unreal, somehow this—right here—is the realest Dan has ever felt. There’s something in the air that Dan doesn’t think is just magic. He can only hope Phil feels it too. 

“You must have questions,” Phil starts, a hand on each knee as he sits perched on the edge of the sofa cushion. The nervous energy absolutely radiates off of him, turning his head to look at the now rightly brown-haired Dan with a tentative smile. It’s like sitting down with a _we should talk_ made the air heavier around both of them. Phil’s shoulders are set, not at all visibly relaxed, and Dan doesn’t like the contrast in comparison to the more loose, free spirited Phil he’s come to know. 

Dan, the man who may or may not write words for a living, finds himself at a loss for them. 

It's cowardice. That’s what he feels as he realizes there was a time, not too long ago, where he thought he’d stop at nothing to know everything about Phil and now he’s here. Paused. Unsure. Quite honestly? A bit scared. 

He reminds himself, once again, that he doesn’t really know Phil at all. 

Yeah, he has questions, but is he sure he’s ready to hear the answers? Or, the more pressing issue, is he ready to _accept_ the answers? 

Dan’s not sure, but he can at least try. Because if there’s anything he’s even remotely sure of it’s the fact that there’s something between him and Phil. Something real, something right. Maybe he doesn’t quite know what it is, but he’s already learned the hard way that he doesn’t like the way he feels when he runs away from it. It’s scary, Phil is scary, Dan’s entire knowledge of the universe and everything in it being shattered right before his very eyes is scary. 

But with that ever-present magnetic charge Dan feels between them—even just sitting in the crease of his couch with his knees pulled up to his chest and Phil perched on the other end—the fear must be worth it. 

But Phil is putting the ball in Dan’s court. And Dan has no fucking clue how this game goes. 

“I- uh… yeah,” Dan responds, trying to collect his frazzled thoughts as he runs a hand through his hair. Like sorting out disheveled curls will somehow translate through to his brain. “Too many,” he adds after a moment. “I really, I don’t know where to start.” 

“Sorry.” Phil shakes his head, as if to clear it and gather his own thoughts. 

Why is Phil so nervous? It’s not like he’s the one who’s had his entire view of the world turned upside down. Dan frowns as Phil’s hands tense and relax against his knees. 

Dan wants to reach out and grab them. He wants them to reach out and grab _him._

He quickly leashes his brain so it doesn’t run away with the thoughts it’s starting to form while watching Phil’s hands. Now is absolutely not the time. 

“This is weird for me.” Phil takes a deep breath, in and out. Dan feels it in his own chest. “I can’t imagine how weird it is for you.” 

“I don’t- I… underestimated how _exposed_ I’d feel. I’m kind of a private person, so I’m not used to laying it all out there. But I-” Phil looks back over, “You’re… I like you, Dan. A lot. More than I should.” Phil runs a hand through his hair, Dan watches it intently. “I think I want you to know everything.” 

“So tell me everything,” Dan says in a hushed tone, his voice as gentle as the touch Phil’s words have on his heart. “Just… whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

Phil huffs a small, dry laugh. “I don’t know where to start either.” 

Dan’s laugh joins him. 

_Maybe they’re both more of a mess than they seem. Maybe they’re more similar than Dan thinks._

Dan desperately tries to not romanticize that as the tension in the air bounces around with their mildly uncomfortable laughter. 

Phil’s eyes dart from Dans, around the room, then to his knees again. He stares down at his clenched knuckles, pensive. “I- Can I show you something?” 

Phil shakes his head. “Er- take you somewhere, more like.” 

“I…” Dan looks at Phil, his brows tugging together as he tries to read the illegible expression on Phil’s face. 

Dan doesn’t know what it means—hell, he doesn’t know what Phil’s asking—but as he nods his head the tension in Phil’s body visibly melts.

Dan’s shoulders feel lighter, too, as he takes Phil’s hand and lets him pull him to the unknown. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _taps mic_ is this thing on?  
> [playlist for this fic!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0biHc1ZQYSyoNVF3fwjJ5A?si=tdy1jWMyQqyUl3fWeq7wlw) now with two freshly added songs in what seems like (oh wait it has been) months 
> 
> (sorry bout that)


	14. Chapter 14

The unknown is, well, _known_ , Dan guesses. At least, he thinks it is. But it can’t be. 

_There’s no way._

Because one minute Phil is grabbing Dan’s denim jacket off the arm of the sofa to toss it to him and Dan is pulling it on while sliding his feet back into his trainers, and the next Phil is tugging him down a side street.

With Phil’s hand in his own, Dan’s brain can barely process the way he blinks and suddenly there’s sun on his face. There’s an unsettled moment of budding panic in Dan’s chest as Phil swings their hands between him. 

He’s… taken this path before, the shortcut to the park that’s a few minutes from Dan’s flat, but something about it seems just a bit _wrong._ There’s more to it than the sun rising above them when it was night only seconds before, that’s for sure. Though that’s also doing his head in as well.

It feels incredibly familiar. Phil’s hand in his, the cobblestone beneath his feet, the sun on his face. But it can’t be. 

They’re obviously not in London anymore, but that would be impossible. Even if they’re turning towards familiar park gates, walking down a familiar path, it doesn’t feel like they’re still in London. 

If Dan takes a moment to focus on anything other than his fingers wrapped around Phil’s hand, he notices the stark lack of cars zooming by, no horns or sirens blaring in the distance, and a lack of _people_ in general. He can hear, _actually hear_ , birds singing their morning songs and the quiet rustle of the wind blowing through the trees. 

_That’s… definitely not London._

“You’ve gone all _Doctor Who_ on me,” Dan says. Because, well, he doesn’t know what else to say. 

Phil chuckles beside him, his hand soft and grounding where it’s squeezing at Dan’s. 

“It’s not... like that, per say.” Phil speaks carefully, thoughtfully as he tugs Dan along the path. 

It’s familiar in a way that throws Dan off, like he’s been here before but everything is a bit wrong—not quite right, just a tad sideways. 

“This is-” Dan scans the area. “I’ve been here before,” he decides with only waning confidence. “It’s not… sunny in London right now though. The sun’s gone down. I don’t understand.” 

“It’s not a trick of time.” Phil steps off the path into the grass, towards the large pond in the center of the park. Dan follows, of course. “If that’s what you’re asking. It’s more…” 

Dan watches as Phil’s bottom lip disappears between his teeth, pensive. 

“A trick of the weather?” Phil says it like a question. Like Dan could say, “ _Oh yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”_

He doesn’t, obviously. 

“You’re right. Well, not really at all.” 

Dan quirks a brow at the contradiction, almost stumbling into Phil as he stops abruptly a handful of steps away from the pond’s edge. It shimmers in the golden sunlight, looking too idealistic to be real. 

Everything does. Too lush and green and _alive_ to be the very park Dan used to jog laps around before winter brought with it a chill and lack of motivation that crept its way into spring. He should probably get back to that, he thinks idly, as if thinking about his exercise habits is something he should be doing right now. 

_Avoidance. Distract yourself with something else so you don’t have to look any pressing issues directly in the face._

But Phil has a nice face, one he quite likes to look directly at, so he shakes his head and looks away from the water and back to Phil.

Phil, who looks particularly beautiful with the way the sun hits his face. If it wouldn’t be entirely too inappropriate, Dan would reach out to run a hand through Phil’s hair. He thinks he’d quite like that. It looks so soft and inviting in the warm glow. 

But he doesn’t, because even though things seem to never feel _wrong_ with Phil, they’re still different now. It’s easy to forget when it feels like no time has passed, like being with Phil is effortless. Like they’ve picked right back up from the last time Dan had his fingers in Phil’s hair, a softer moment before Dan was jolted like a shock of lightning and everything went up in flames. 

And they did. Go up in flames that is. Dan spurring it on by jumping ship instead of running head on to douse them. He’s never been the best at dealing with conflict or change, and as he looks at Phil, he’s never been more upset with himself. 

So he doesn’t. Dan keeps his hand at his side, the other in Phil’s, and turns to look back at the water. Things aren’t the same, and he can’t just act like they are, as much as he wants to. 

Phil pulls him out of his crowded brain with a pensive hum beside him. “It’s like how my shop is in London but _not_ in London. If that makes sense.” 

“Nothing makes sense, Phil.” Dan laughs, because it’s ridiculous. He’s ridiculous, Phil is ridiculous. Everything is upside down and the wrong way around. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to freak you out more but I-,” Phil uses his free hand to gesture to the greenery around them, “-I come here when I need to sort my brain out, or just, have some peace and quiet. And I wanted to share that with you. Things feel less scary for me here.” 

Dan can’t help but snort. “You didn’t want to freak me out, so you time travel me to some parallel universe?” 

“It’s not-” Phil drops Dan’s hand to shove at his shoulder. It’s a bit rough and takes Dan off guard, so the same hand is grabbing at Dan’s bicep so he doesn’t topple over. Phil is laughing though, and so is Dan. The sound is incredibly missed, like music to Dan’s ears. 

“It’s not _time travel.”_ Phil snorts. “And parallel universes aren’t real.” 

“Fuck off,” Dan shoots the sass right back. “How am I supposed to know what the hell is real anymore? I’m ready for a bloody dragon to fly overhead any second now.” 

“ _Well..._ ” there’s a shit-eating grin on Phil’s face and a glint in his eye. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dan shoves at Phil’s shoulder, “ _off.”_

“I’m joking, I’m joking.” Phil laughs, hands up in front of him, waving the proverbial white flag. 

“Menace,” Dan quips.

“ _Magical menace,”_ he corrects himself as Phil holds a hand up to his face to cover his laughter. Dan’s reaction is immediate, one step forward into Phil’s space with a hand wrapped around Phil’s wrist. 

And that’s when he feels it, stronger than ever, that odd feeling in the center of his chest that buzzes throughout his entire body. A foreign feeling that he’s only felt twinges of since meeting Phil. Something that’s so _sure_ and solid in his chest. He can’t put a name to it other than certainty. 

It’s a feeling that's so full and whole and settled, Dan’s suddenly not scared of Phil or magic or how the ever living fuck they transported here, not in this moment. Not when he’s looking at Phil and Phil is looking at him like something is physically clicking. 

Perhaps it’s all just in Dan’s mind, there’s no way Phil feels it as well. But the look in his eyes makes Dan desperate to believe he does. 

Phil is looking at him with a smile that spreads over his entire face—one that could be read without Dan pulling his hand away from his mouth, but that doesn’t stop him. Dan feels entirely too seen, like Phil is looking at him for the very first time. Really looking at him. Like... alarmingly deep into Dan’s soul. 

It almost makes Dan squirm, but he doesn’t. He realizes he doesn’t mind Phil seeing him in this way. Whatever way it is that has him looking at Dan like he’s piecing together a puzzle of the bits of Dan that are typically locked away from other people behind dropped gazes and guarded eyes. Unlike most people, Dan doesn’t mind the perception when it’s coming from Phil—but that’s not necessarily a new realization. 

And maybe, maybe Dan is really seeing Phil for the first time as well, because there’s something being said between the gaze that doesn’t need to be verbalized. 

_At least, that’s what it feels like to Dan._

He could be entirely off base. It wouldn’t be the first time, and definitely not the last. It’s the kind of feeling he would run from, he _should_ run from, but perhaps it’s about time Dan stopped letting himself get in his own way. Instead of wondering or lamenting internally over unasked questions, Dan plants his feet firmly on the ground and opens his mouth before he can do something stupid like run away from it again. 

“Do you feel it too?” 

Dan doesn’t need to explain, or expand. He doesn’t get a quirked or furrowed brow in question, just one _sure_ nod. 

“I feel it too.” 

With that, Dan sits down right in the slightly damp grass in front of the pond, looking up once his legs are criss-crossed with a hand outstretched to pull Phil down with him. 

“I want to know everything about you.” 

The dewey grass that starts to seep through Dan’s jeans keeps him grounded. It reminds him that this idealistic place, the idealistic man whose knee keeps bumping into his as he gesticulates next to him, are all very much real. Dan isn’t dreaming. He hasn’t time traveled or been sucked into a parallel universe. That is, if he really believes Phil as he insists Dan could step on a butterfly here and nothing would change. 

_“Except that would be quite rude. What did the butterfly ever do to you?”_

He’s awake and in a very real place, in a veil Phil can only describe as _London but not_. The sunlight of the first hour of the day shines over him, even though his phone tells him it’s still half past nine in the evening. Phil says Dan’s phone is right, it’s half past nine. He says he likes the calm of the early morning hours, he likes the way the sun feels at this particular location in the sky, so his little thoughtful spot can have that. All the time, whenever he pleases. 

_Because it seems as though Phil can, quite literally, have whatever he pleases._

It’s impossible for Dan to wrap his head around, and though Phil tries, he can’t explain it much further, or in a way Dan might understand. Dan quickly learns understanding and making sense of things are always going to be at odds with each other when it comes to Phil. 

Or, more specifically, when it comes to magic. 

That should scare him more than it does. It honestly freaks him out more that it _doesn’t_ scare him. But there’s something else at work entirely, it dawns on him as Phil speaks, as he looks at Phil. Some things don’t need to be understood to be accepted. 

The realization comes just as easily as that feeling deep in his heart. Dan sure as hell doesn’t understand how the love in his heart he feels towards Phil is real—he barely knows him, it shouldn’t be love, it shouldn’t be anything more than mere infatuation—but he accepts it regardless. And he knows that’s what it is. Love. Because he’s never felt so sure about a feeling before. 

It doesn’t need to be questioned or put under a microscope. 

And he guesses, _well_ , neither should Phil’s magic. 

“So it’s just like, _everywhere_?” 

Phil nods. “I mean, most of us keep to ourselves so we can live freely without hiding or having to be cautious, but magic is all around you. Spells with herbs that mimic my kind of magic, changes in the weather, microwave popcorn. Most of you are just too caught up in this or that to stop and notice.” 

“Hold on,” Dan squints his eyes, leaning over to plant his hands on Phil’s knees to look directly in his eyes, “microwave popcorn is _not_ witchcraft!” 

Phil simply raises his brows, his eyes twinkling with the same mischief as the smirk on his lips. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Dan shakes his head as he pushes off of Phil’s knees. “What the fuck?” he asks the heavens above, looking away from Phil to the golden, cloudless sky with an incredulous huff of a laugh. 

Phil shows Dan where he grew up, funny anecdotes of his childhood, and his family in photo prints that materialize out of nowhere.

Dan watches in awe as they move, still frames coming to life before his very eyes. That doesn’t stop him from teasing Phil though, insisting that the shade of hair on younger Phil's head is definitely ginger and not at all the mousey brown Phil claims in the same breath that he uses to question why Phil doesn’t just use his phone. 

Dan doesn’t dissect how _normal_ Phil makes it all feel, how Dan doesn’t even flinch after the first photograph that appears in his hand out of thin air. 

“You don’t have to go all smoke and mirrors on me, you know?” Dan bumps his shoulder into Phil’s as he watches kid Phil turn his older brother into a toad, and then back again. 

If he focuses, the childlike laughter blows past his ears. A distant motherly call of “ _Philip Michael if you don’t stop that, you will be having dinner as a toad.”_

It makes Dan feel warm. 

Phil chuckles, bumping Dan back. The photograph disappears all together, the two of them left staring at Phil’s hands. 

“You know,” Phil turns his head to look at Dan with a raised brow, “I only got one of these things to talk to you.” He smirks as he holds up his hand, his iPhone now in it. 

Dan’s eyes go wide, surprising even himself with how big they can get. “You’re joking,” he says incredulously. 

Phil simply shakes his head, the phone disappearing right before Dan’s very eyes. 

_What the fuck is his life?_

He can’t help but laugh. It’s almost hysterical as he leans back in the grass on his palms, his head tilting up to the sky. 

“This is all so...” Dan trails off with a sigh. He turns his head to the side and looks at Phil, shaking his head. “Ridiculous,” is what he settles on. 

“I know.” Phil is quick to frown. “I’m sorry.” 

“No.” Dan pushes himself back up straight, his hand magnetic on Phil’s knee. “Don’t apologize. It’s not… it’s not bad. It’s just-” Dan scrunches his nose in thought, still at a loss for words. “A lot.” 

Phil hums. He’s about to open his mouth, Dan’s eyes flicking down to see them part, but they stop as Dan speaks again, leaning in closer with his eyes squinting. 

“Your glasses,” Dan says, getting so close they’re a mildly strong breeze away from bumping noses. “They don’t have the fun- uh...” Dan pushes away to hold a hand up, waggling his fingers to try to communicate the word his brain is lacking. 

Phil quirks a brow, cocking his head in confusion before recognition registers across his face. 

“Oh!” Phil holds a hand up to the frames, tapping at the side. “You’ve heard of, like, mood rings before, right?” 

“Oh my god,” Dan groans, “this is a dream. I’m living in a fever dream.” 

“Shut up,” Phil laughs. “I’m really trying to explain these things in ways you’d understand.” 

“I appreciate that, bub, but I don’t think you’re helping your case by having _mood_ glitter glasses like a teenage girl in the nineties.” 

“They’re not.” Phil pouts, pushing at Dan’s shoulder. “Fine, that was a bad analogy. Let me show you,” he says as he shifts in the grass to face Dan. Their knees knock together as Dan copies his movements, almost on instinct. 

Phil reaches out, a tingling sparks through Dan’s hand as he grabs it, holding it up to the side of his face. 

“What’s your favorite color?” Phil asks. 

Dan’s brows scrunch together, but he answers easily as his index and middle fingers are pressed to Phil’s glasses. “Black.” 

Phil snorts, rolling his eyes. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” Phil shakes his head, his smile growing wider as he does. “You’re just predictable.”

Dan frowns. “I hate that.” 

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” Phil is quick to say. “I like knowing you,” he adds in a low hum between them. 

It’s like Dan can feel the squeeze at his heart in his chest. He finds he can do nothing more but let out a shaky breath in their shared space, somehow finding themselves nearly nose to nose again. Dan doesn’t know how that keeps happening. He also doesn’t think he really cares. 

“Anyway,” Phil says, looking at Dan with soft eyes. 

Dan is two seconds away from getting lost in the blues, greens, and yellows that swirl within them, but Phil shuts his eyes before he can. 

Phil’s fingers press firm against Dan’s. “Watch the glasses and think about how your favorite color makes you feel.” 

Dan is unconvinced, though he knows he shouldn’t be with the amount of shit he’s seen in the past few hours. So he takes a deep breath, in and then out—not missing the way Phil shudders slightly as it fans across his face. With his focus on the clear frames on Phil’s face, Dan follows his instructions. 

It’s slow at first, Dan’s hand almost feeling numb as tiny dots begin to fill the empty space, but as they start to swirl and glimmer in the sun his breath catches in his throat. 

It’s beautiful. He was so foolish to think before that pink was his favorite color on Phil. 

_In all honesty, maybe every color is Dan’s favorite color on Phil. But he retains the right to have no comment on that at this time._

The amount of time that passes is questionable, but Dan reckons it can’t be more than a few seconds as he definitely isn’t breathing until Phil’s eyes open and snap him out of his trance. He feels lightheaded, but it has nothing to do with the lack of air. 

“What?” Phil asks immediately, looking concerned at whatever he sees on Dan’s face. 

The corner of Dan’s mouth lifts slightly in a small smile, one that he can’t stop from turning into a full blown grin. Phil seems to have that effect. 

“They’re not black,” Dan says simply, taking his hand out from under Phil’s and pulling away. 

“Oh, I was sure that would work.” Phil’s brows scrunch together as he frowns. Dan just sits there, watching with amusement as a confused Phil pulls his glasses off his face with pursed lips, blinking a few times once they’re held out in front of his face. 

_God, he’s so cute._

Recognition washes across Phil’s face once he makes out the swirling greens and blues and yellows within the clear frames. 

“ _Oh._ ” Phil giggles. 

Dan laughs as well. “Yeah,” he hums as he leans back. The grin on his face is so wide his cheeks start to ache. 

“Wait,” Dan says after a moment of nothing more than unrestricted laughter, the warmth of the sun on their faces, and short conversations not had with words. 

“Hm?” Phil nudges his knee against Dan’s. 

Dan sighs. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up then fixing it again. 

_No, this is stupid._

“What?” The tap of Phil’s knee is replaced by the gentle squeeze of his hand. “I can _hear_ you thinking.” 

_Wait, mind reading? He’s barely come to terms with magic being real._

Dan’s head snaps to the side, wide eyes staring at Phil. “You- you can?” 

Phil’s eyes go just as wide. He shakes his head fervently. “Metaphorically Dan,” he reassures with a firmer squeeze at Dan’s knee. 

“I’m not a seer or telepathic. Sorry,” Phil says with a laugh. “You wear your worries on your face sometimes.” 

“Hm,” Dan hums. He really does hate that about himself. 

“So what is it?” Phil asks, reining them back in. 

_Might as well rip the band-aid off._

“If I did that,” Dan gestures to Phil’s glasses, “am I…” Dan trails off. He really doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want Phil to make him say it. 

Fortunately, Phil doesn’t. 

“Magic?” Phil finishes Dan’s thought easily—casually, like it’s the most casual, normal question to ask. 

_Newsflash, it isn’t. It really fucking isn’t._

Before Dan can even nod, Phil is shaking his own head. “No,” Phil says. “That was just a trick. I’m sorry if I made you think-” 

“No no,” Dan interrupts. “Don’t apologize, it was stupid for me to think.” Dan frowns, looking down at his hands. 

_Was it though?_

In the back of Dan’s mind, locks rattle on boxes pushed away, begging to be opened. Thoughts he doesn’t care to entertain, but as they start to come forward, few explanations seem to make sense. 

One very large, very glaring explanation makes quite a lot of sense. For once in his life, Dan doesn’t fucking run from it. 

Dan turns back to Phil, his eyes determined as Phil looks back at him with his head cocked to the side in question. 

“Then how would you explain why I was able to wander into your shop, but it disappeared the second I brought Bry with me?” 

_That’s the band-aid adequately ripped, if Dan’s ever seen it._

Phil sighs. Dan watches with rising suspicion as Phil’s jaw goes tight, looking out to the pond before them. Away from Dan. 

“Phil,” Dan pleads. 

“I can’t explain it,” Phil says, his voice sounding pained as the words leave his lips. It startles Dan, the sadness that takes over his tone so completely. 

“Phil,” Dan says again. It’s more gentle this time, paired with a hesitant hand at Phil’s thigh. 

“I don’t know. I really don’t know why.” Phil looks back to Dan, his eyes now glistening with more than the sun. It’s like an ice pick tapping a crack directly into the center of Dan’s heart. “I’m sorry, I wish I could explain. I wish I could tell you it was an explanation as simple as magic.” 

Phil’s voice cracks and Dan’s heart shatters. 

“No,” Dan hums so lowly he can barely hear it in his own ears. He leans forward to wrap his arms around Phil’s shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. “It’s okay.” 

Phil squeezes him back. Dan feels the tickle of his hair against his neck as a shudder racks through the body he’s holding. 

“I’m sorry for being pushy,” Dan says quickly, rubbing at Phil’s back. 

“I’m sorry for being a crybaby,” Phil hums into Dan’s neck with a sad huff of a laugh. “I underestimated how overwhelming this all would be. I hate not having all the answers.” 

Dan’s thumb brushes against the soft hair at the nape of Phil’s neck. 

“Me too.” 

He feels Phil sniff, and then he’s pulling back. Dan lets him go easily, but the tips of his fingers tingle as they linger at Phil’s shoulders, running down them slowly before pulling away when he reaches his wrists. 

“There’s something I _can_ explain,” Phil says, looking at Dan with a watery gaze so intense Dan wouldn’t be able to look away even if he tried. “It might make this,” Phil lifts a hand to gesture at himself, “make more sense to you.” 

“At least I hope,” Phil adds when Dan nods for him to go ahead. 

Phil’s eyes aren’t the only ones that are damp as he speaks. Dan’s too focused on his words, his shaking knee, his shuddering sighs to notice his own have gone blurry around the edges. 

“I like you,” Phil breathes. “Like a lot.” 

The words are familiar. Dan supplies the rest. 

“More than you should?” he asks. 

Phil huffs out a laugh, amusement shining through his sad eyes. He nods. “More than I should.” 

“I- me too,” Dan says, trying to convey the weight of the simple words and most likely failing. “The liking you thing,” he clarifies with a blush and a shared laugh. 

“But now that I know…” Dan trails off, biting his lip as he looks at Phil—looking for answers in the other man’s eyes that he’s too afraid to inquire about himself. 

“It’s more than just that.” Phil sighs, looking straight ahead as he runs a hand down his face, rubbing at his chin before speaking again. “I have _significant_ baggage.” 

“Well fuck me. You’ve read my book, I’m basically driving a U-Haul of mine around at all times,” Dan says with a huff of a laugh. 

“I’m afraid you’ll hate me for mine,” Phil says quietly. So quiet it would have gone unheard if the usual sounds of London applied here. 

But they don’t, and it breaks Dan’s heart to hear it. 

“You just told me magic exists and I’m still sitting here.” Dan bumps his knee against Phil’s, watching the side of his face intently as Phil remains focused on the ducks at the other end of the pond. 

“Not hating you or whatever,” Dan adds with another nudge. The corner of Phil’s mouth twitches, but it doesn’t pull into a full smile or meet the rest of his face. 

“I’ve only dated someone without magic once before, and I haven't dated like, anyone since.” 

The words are rushed out, all at once without as much of a glance to the side. Phil’s face remains stoic, if not a little sad. It makes Dan frown, his brows tug together in confusion and a bit of upset himself. 

If they’re pulling _those_ skeletons out, Dan has quite a few. 

_None of them the cause for such worry though…_

Dan opens his mouth to say something similar aloud, but Phil is a leap ahead. 

“It was bad,” Phil says, his tone so distinctly void of emotion it turns Dan’s stomach sour. “It ended very badly.” 

“You don’t have to-” 

“I want to tell you.” Phil’s voice is firm. “I have to tell you.” 

Dan nods, choosing to not use his words despite the chance that Phil may not even see the action out of the corner of his eye. 

He does though. “It was good, until it was bad. I thought it was at least. At the time I thought it was love, but I know now that love doesn’t feel like that.” Phil frowns.

He pauses with that look on his face, the one that Dan knows means he’s carefully calculating his words. 

“It was a long time before I told him. It took me a year of hiding and lying and dodging questions and making myself sick over it all to finally get the nerve to lay it all out there.”

Morbid curiosity gets to Dan. “Could he-” 

No.” Phil shakes his head immediately. “No, you’re the only one. You’re the only being without magic that’s ever entered my shop.” 

Dan doesn’t let it stroke his ego. He doesn’t even know why it would, but he pushes it away regardless. 

“That didn’t stop him from trying once I told him,” Phil continues with an angry twitch at the corner of his eye, his jaw hardening as he stares out stoically. “Trying to expose my shop, me, my family. It was like a switch was flipped the second I opened up, revealing a person fueled only by the dollar signs he saw in bidding wars of tabloids and newspapers and your government. Not by love.” 

“ _Phil,”_ Dan’s voice is barely audible, cracking even with the solitary syllable. His throat tenses as he swallows. It only acts to encourage the moisture behind his eyes. 

Phil sighs. “It was bad.” 

Dan hums, low in the back of his throat, in agreement. It sounds like bad is just the tip of the iceberg. 

“I… he-” Phil’s voice breaks. Dan has to physically restrain himself from reaching out as he watches Phil tug down the sleeve of his jumper and wipe at the corner of his eye. 

With a sigh and a few blinks, Phil finishes his thought with far less emotion seeping through his guarded walls. 

“He doesn’t remember any of that now. It’s just me.” 

Dan’s breath catches. He understands immediately but he _really_ doesn’t want to. He wants to ask what Phil means, he wants Phil to tell him it means something else. For once he doesn’t want to understand. 

Because not understanding would mean remaining ignorant to the thought that sparks fear in his chest. Sure, practically everything about this entire situation scares him, but this is all too real. 

There’s a hand at his knee. It grounds him. Dan’s eyes refocus as he calms his breathing, Phil still isn’t looking his way. 

“I wouldn’t, Dan.” Phil shakes his head. “Never again.” 

Though Dan can only see half of Phil’s face, every wall is down. He doesn’t chase Phil’s hand when it’s pulled away, though he desperately wants to. 

“I didn’t anyway,” Phil adds. “I can’t. I don’t have that power. Quin does. It’s his job. We have to keep ourselves protected somehow, erasing the memories of magic from those who wish to harm is just… it’s necessary.” 

“Quin was the one that did it, but it might as well have been me.” Phil shudders out a sigh. “I don’t know how he does it. I can still _see-_ ” Phil cuts himself off, his jaw clenching shut again as he breathes deeply. 

Dan feels a fat tear roll its way down his own cheek. He doesn’t wipe it away. 

“He broke my heart. The first thought he had when I thought I trusted him enough to share my true self was how he could cash out with it,” Phil says through gritted teeth. “And yet I’m haunted by the look in his eyes. Looking at me like I was a stranger to him.” 

“I was. He had never met me. No courting, no dates, no relationship. That entire year of his life was reduced down to the bare essentials.” Phil bites his lip as his brows tug together. “Magic and I go hand in hand, one doesn’t go without the other.” 

“It was the right thing to do. It just…” Phil takes a deep breath in, Dan can almost feel it in his own chest as he lets it out. “It just _really_ fucked me up.” 

Dan bites back the _“sounds like it”_ on his tongue. He instead reaches out, resting his hand just above Phil’s knee. Phil shifts his leg the smallest amount, pressing in to the touch. Dan lets his thumb swipe softly back and forth against the denim of Phil’s jeans. 

“I thought I had moved on.” Phil pauses, shaking his head as he huffs out a laugh. “I _pretended_ like I had moved on, instead of ever actually dealing with it.” 

Dan can’t help but snort at that. 

_Sounds an awful lot like someone he knows._

“But you.” Phil finally looks at Dan with the words. 

Dan takes in a surprised breath at the intensity of Phil’s eyes—the disruption of his memorization of the left side of Phil’s face.

“You blew into my shop with the rain and upended every lie I was telling myself.” 

With Phil’s words, it’s almost as though Dan can hear the soft patter of rain that lacked from the inside of Witch’s Brew the very first day they met. He doesn’t have to look away from Phil to assure that the sky above them is still clear. Dan sees the sun in Phil’s eyes, feels it in his own heart. 

“Falling for you demanded I finally faced that. And I wasn’t sure if I was ready. None of it would have been fair to you, to either of us. Keeping my magic from you felt wrong, but it also didn’t feel right to tell you when I wasn’t sure if I had healed enough to not worry about it ending the same.” 

It feels like a sharp dagger to the heart, twisting ever so slightly. Dan opens his mouth to reassure Phil that he would never, _never_ do that to him. No matter what happens between them, Dan isn’t like that. 

Phil holds up a hand. Dan closes his mouth. 

“I know,” Phil says. “I know, Dan. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for ever misjudging you like that even in a passing thought. I know you wouldn’t.” Phil’s eyes, still holding Dan’s gaze, say something different. 

It isn’t deceit Dan is seeing though, it’s a question. It’s the worry tugged at Phil’s brows, the shine of wetness at his waterline. 

“I wouldn’t,” Dan says, as sure as the feeling in his chest. 

Phil visibly exhales, his shoulders dropping with the tension that had been holding them for far too long. 

_Probably longer than Dan had even realized._

The corner of Phil’s mouth tugs up in a tentative smile. Even if his eyes are still a bit sad, Dan finds him incredibly beautiful. If it were possible to believe, Dan would say he finds Phil even _more_ beautiful as he looks at him and feels like he really, truly _knows_ him. 

Dan may know fuck all about magic or witchcraft or, well, much of anything else really. But he does know Phil. He’s sure of that. 

“I’m ready now,” Phil says after clearing his throat, pulling Dan out of the haze brought on by the blue swirl of his eyes. 

“I can only lay myself bare and ask if what you see is something that you want.” 

“Well, if you’re laying bare,” Dan quips with a smirk and a raised brow. 

He’s about to immediately stick his foot in his mouth, cursing his brain for once again blurting out the first thing it thinks of regardless if it’s appropriate or not, but Phil lets out a snort before he can.

Phil shakes his head as he laughs, smacking his hand against Dan’s knee in reprimand. His smile is wide, genuine, the kind that he just can’t stop his tongue from peeking out between his teeth. 

This time, Phil doesn’t raise a hand to cover it. And so Dan doesn’t raise one to pull it away. 

This time, Phil is the one to lean in. 

A hand in the damp grass behind Dan and the other resting on Dan’s knee, tentative and gentle as Phil leans into his space. Dan sighs into the touch, somehow feeling even more weightless with the exhale. He wants nothing more than this. 

_He wants everything._

Dan doesn’t turn or pull away, eyes locked on Phil’s gaze. Everything is pulling. His chest towards Phil’s, his lips towards Phil’s, every bone in his body vibrating with the need to be _closer_ to Phil. 

The air feels electric between them— _though when has it ever not?—_ and Dan feels a shudder roll down the length of his entire spine as Phil breathes out. He’s so close it tickles Dan’s nose. Phil huffs a small laugh at the way Dan scrunches it up to stave off the itch. 

Dan smiles, because he thinks it’s the only thing his body can do besides pull closer and closer to Phil. 

The sun, still stuck in its state of ever golden rays, catches the blue-green-yellow swirling of glitter in Phil’s frames. Dan feels that swirling in his chest as those same shimmering colors look back at him, then down. 

The delicate drop of Phil’s lids. 

Phil’s eyes on his mouth being the last thing Dan sees before his own flutter shut. 

The feeling of Phil’s knee on his hand. 

Phil’s breath against his chapped lips. 

Phil’s nose softly pressing against Dan’s skin. 

It could be hours, it could be minutes, it could be seconds—the moment savored as they sit pressed together. Phil’s lips are paused so close to Dan’s mouth he _feels_ it. 

In fact, there’s a few seconds there where Dan thinks Phil _is_ already kissing him. But then, all of a sudden, Phil closes the hair of a distance to press their lips together and the feeling is instantly something Dan knows he’ll never be able to mistake again. He feels it from the top of his head to the tip of his toes, but mostly right where they’re connected. A low, satisfying thrum that makes him feel _whole._

Dan sighs into the kiss, a contented whine of a hum leaving his throat with it. A sound he would be more embarrassed about if this weren’t Phil, if this didn’t feel as absolutely right as it did. He pushes forward. Another whine fills the quiet around them at the sad realization that it isn’t possible to simply climb right into Phil, stick himself to Phil’s body like the industrial magnet he feels he is. 

Dan moves his hand from the grass to the back of Phil’s neck, pulling him _closer closer closer_ , envisioning a world in which breathing air is the option while kissing Phil is the necessity. 

Unfortunately, that is merely a world in Dan’s fantasies, and their lips part again. Phil’s forehead rests against Dan’s as they breathe in each other’s space, chests rising and falling. 

Dan slides his hand to the side of Phil’s neck, tracing his jaw with a gentle sweep of his thumb. He holds him tight there, pressing his nose into Phil’s skin in some sort of affectionate nuzzle before pulling back, just the slightest bit, to whisper a breathless question in their shared space. 

“Can you take me home?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [playlist link!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0biHc1ZQYSyoNVF3fwjJ5A?si=9H2a9ipHRkipPbSra0WuGg)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! this chapter contains sexual content - just a heads up if you glossed over the rating!

There’s little regard to the stark change from day to night. In fact, there’s little regard for anything other than the feeling of Phil’s lips. The feeling of Phil’s teeth knocking against Dan’s as the two of them stumble down the hall of Dan’s building. The all encompassing feeling of _Phil._

Dan has Phil’s face between his hands, keeping them both upright with a giggle and teeth sinking into flesh a bit too harshly when Phil trips over the air behind him. 

“God, we’re a mess.” Dan swipes his tongue against his bottom lip, savoring the dull ache as he holds Phil steady. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Phil pulls back once he has his footing. Or at least, once he’s no longer at the risk of toppling backwards, because let's be real it’s questionable at best if he ever really has his footing. 

“Did I get you? Are you bleeding?” Phil asks, attempting to move his face in Dan’s grip to survey the damage. 

“No.” Dan pulls Phil back into his orbit, kissing him much more softly than seconds prior, now that they’re paused in front of his door. “I’m fine,” he breathes between them when their lips part. “You’d have to bite me a lot harder than that.”

He says it like a challenge, because maybe it is. Phil’s look of concern melts away to reveal something darker, a shuddered breath and the hand at Dan’s waist pulling him flush against his front. 

Dan’s hand slides down to Phil’s neck. His nails press into the skin there as Phil kisses him hard, capturing his bottom lip again before pulling away. There’s a moment where he doesn’t let go, digging his teeth into the soft skin, eliciting a whine from Dan’s throat that feels far too loud for the quiet of the hallway. It doesn’t at all feel weird as Dan looks to Phil with heavy lidded eyes, the twinkle of the smirk that would be on his mouth shining there before he lets Dan’s lip free. 

It pings back into place, far from the only thing starting to swell. 

_What? He means his heart._

“Do you want to…” Dan nods to his door behind Phil with a raised brow. 

Phil smiles, huffing out a laugh. “I thought that’s what you were asking back there.” 

“Well, I didn’t want to be presumptuous,” Dan says with a snort. 

_Oh, nice one Dan. Definitely sexy._

But Phil only squeezes at his waist tighter, the hall filling with both of their laughter. Dan steps forward, pushing Phil back until he’s pressed up against the wall beside his door. He kisses the smirk off of Phil’s face as he tries, and fails, to blindly pull his keys out of his pocket. 

Phil is just… very distracting. It’s a lot to ask of Dan’s mind to carry out any other task when he has his tongue in his mouth. 

There’s a loss of Phil’s hand at Dan’s waist, then the soft click and creak of the door next to them that’s enough to pull Dan’s attention away from kissing Phil. 

“Man,” Dan breathes once his eyes flick to the door, “do you have any respect for the law?” 

Phil giggles—full on giggles with those crinkly eyes of his and a hand snaking between them to cover his mouth. 

“Most of the time,” he says from behind his hand. 

Dan rolls his eyes, wrapping his hand around Phil’s wrist and tugging him through the door. 

That’s a conversation for when Dan is far less horny. 

All his mind can supply while he’s being pushed against the door the second it clicks shut again is that it’d be awfully convenient to not have to go out and get his key copied for his boyfriend. 

_Boyfriend._

That’s not… They haven’t even put a name on whatever this is yet, but it feels so right dancing around in Dan’s mind. He wants to be Phil’s boyfriend. He wants Phil to be his boyfriend. 

This is probably an odd train of thought to be having while there’s an incredibly hot man pressing his hips into his as he kisses him breathless. 

Dan pushes it away, meeting Phil the rest of the way. He wraps his arms around Phil’s neck, a hand gripping at his shoulder while the other plays with the hair at the back of his head—all thoughts replaced with the fascination of just how _soft_ it is. 

Phil is running his hands down Dan’s sides, leaving the tingle of a static shock in their wake. Though it’s not like Phil’s in his socks rubbing his feet against carpet to charge his fingers up, so the feeling must be in his head—amplified by his body’s reaction to someone else’s hands all over him after quite some time keeping dating and hookups on the back-burner. But these aren’t just _someone’s_ hands, they’re Phil’s. They’re Phil’s and Dan honestly feels a sort of giddy that he only gets after a few strong drinks. But he’s completely sober, intoxicated only by the constant voice in his head banging pots and pans together shouting that he’s _finally_ kissing Phil—hammered off the taste of Phil’s lips. 

There’s a firm squeeze at Dan’s thigh, another at his bum, and when he feels the flex of Phil’s muscle under his grip at his shoulder Dan knows exactly what he’s thinking of doing.

He wiggles a bit under Phil’s touch to be cheeky—not at all in protest. 

“What are you doing?” Dan laughs. But he tightens his arms around Phil’s neck to help him before he gets any real answer. Phil manages to pick him up surprisingly easily. 

There’s a moment where Dan braces for the two of them to go toppling backwards with his weight as he wraps his legs around Phil’s waist, but it never comes. 

Phil presses him firmly against the wall, and Dan sees stars behind his eyes the second lips trail down his neck from his jaw, then back up again. They kiss for what seems like hours, though Dan reckons his entire perception of time has been as thoroughly fucked as he feels, the only sounds in his apartment being the desperate gasps every time Dan’s brain reminds him breathing is a thing he needs to do and Phil’s low, encouraging hums. 

Dan has Phil’s bottom lip sucked between his teeth, fierce blue eyes looking directly up at him, when he feels Phil adjust his grip. Phil’s lip pings back into place, looking as pink and puffy as Dan’s feels, and Dan locks his fingers behind his neck more firmly, because _apparently_ Phil is trying to mobilize them.

“You can’t just carry me to my room like this,” Dan giggles in Phil’s ear. He feels high. Absolutely stupid high on nothing but the man he’s wrapped around like a koala. 

“What?” Phil scoffs. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” 

Dan’s laugh is cut short by an intake of breath at the realization. Then he’s laughing again, the sound muffled with his face tucked into the crook of Phil’s neck. Phil struggles to remain standing with Dan’s shaking body. 

“You _did_ tuck me in that night, didn’t you?” 

Phil shrugs as much as he can without dropping Dan. “Didn’t want you getting a crick in your neck from the couch.” 

Dan presses a kiss to the spot his face has been pressed against before pulling back to press another to Phil’s mouth. Then another. 

_Maybe two more._

“Ever the gentleman,” he says against Phil’s mouth. Phil laughs into it. 

Soft lights follow as Phil maneuvers them through Dan’s dark apartment. Dan’s too preoccupied with how he’s pressed against a few walls along the way to put much thought into it. 

He feels like he’s floating. Literally—there’s a few moments where Phil doesn’t seem to be supporting Dan’s weight at all, but somehow he never falls. And Dan thanks whatever’s out there that his thoughts are being steered by his dick instead of his brain. That’s far too much to compartmentalize at the moment, and the confinement of his jeans is starting to become painful. 

Phil has other plans though, and maybe he’s a bit of a show off, because he waits until he flops Dan down on his bed to look down at him with a smirk visible even in the dark of the room. 

“What?” Dan says, breathless.

Phil pushes up, sitting back on Dan’s thighs, and Dan follows, propping himself up on his elbows with a lifted brow. He blinks to adjust his eyes, so he can see the mischievous look on Phil’s face better, but when they open on the second blink it seems to have worked _far_ better than he’s used to. 

“ _Wo-”_ The repeated question dies in Dan’s throat as it dawns on him what just happened. 

Phil giggles, _because of course he fucking does_. 

Every available candle in his room has been lit, and that’s quite a lot considering the handful on his window sills, two on his nightstand, and the whole collection atop his dresser. The room is washed in that soft, flickering warm light that only burning fire can provide, and Dan is _definitely_ not used to this. His eyes flick between the vibrating Phil atop him, hiding his laughter behind his hands at Dan’s apparent awe, and the candles around the room. 

“It’s going to smell horrific in here in about thirty seconds,” is all Dan can say. 

Phil’s eyes go wide, brows tugging together as he drops his hand. That, seemingly, did not cross his mind. Sure, Dan has exceptional taste in scented candles, but that doesn’t mean they’re intended for coexistence. 

Phil’s face softens, then scrunches up as he looks around. 

Nothing at all seems to change, but then he’s asking, “Is that better?” Phil’s brows tug back together quickly. “Or is it too much?” he asks, looking down at Dan with what looks like genuine worry on his face. 

“Mate, I’m not sure what you did,” Dan says with a gentle smile, rubbing his thumb against Phil’s knee—because it’s right by his hand, because he likes touching Phil, because he _can._

“Oh,” Phil chuckles. “I made them all unscented- don’t worry, I can put them all back,” he rushes out while Dan takes a horrifying face journey. 

Dan sighs a breath of relief at the reassurance, though the oddity of it all sticks with him. 

“What’s your favorite scent? I can make them all- Oo! What’s a sexy scent? Or I can put them all out if you don’t-” 

Dan snorts. “Phil.” His name stops Phil’s jumbled back and forth. “It’s _perfect_ ,” he says as he sits up, running his hands up Phil’s arms until they’re sat nose to nose with his hands squeezing at Phil’s shoulders. They feel all tingly, and the candles are throwing light around in a way that makes him blink his eyes a few times, but he doesn’t think much of it, far more interested in getting Phil’s lips back on his. 

But when Dan brushes his nose against Phil’s, there’s a newfound hesitance there. Like, Phil’s muscles have gone tight under Dan’s touch, and he doesn’t push forward to meet Dan halfway. Dan stops in his tracks, pulling back to look at him. 

Phil is biting his lip. Not Dan’s like Dan would like, and definitely not in a sexy way. There’s a crease of a frown at his forehead, and Dan quickly tries to recount what he’s said or done to spark that worry. 

“I- sorry.” Phil does a little shake of his head, his brows tugging further together.

Dan trails a hand down Phil’s bicep, and when he sees Phil’s jaw noticeably clench he’s quick to pull back. 

“What’s up?” he asks, soft—mostly trying not to panic. He doesn’t even realize he’s gone back to absentmindedly brushing his thumb against Phil’s knee—comforting himself, comforting Phil. There’s concern in his eyes as he watches Phil shut his, taking in and letting out a deep, shuddering breath before opening them again. 

“What’s your, like, too much threshold?” Phil asks in a quiet voice. 

“Is this too fast?” Dan non-answers in a whisper. 

Phil quickly shakes his head. He lifts his hands, starts to reach out for Dan, but then he stops, folding them in his lap. 

“Not this,” Phil says to his hands. “You said...” he looks up, meeting Dan’s eyes, “perfect. This is perfect.” 

They sit in the silence for a moment. Dan not quite understanding, not quite knowing what to say. Then, Phil holds his hands out between them again and Dan flicks his eyes down, staring at his open palms. 

“I mean the whole magic thing.” Phil’s fingers tremble the slightest bit. “I’ve kind of got one more thing I think I should tell you, but I don’t want to freak you out.” 

Dan reckons he’s seen enough for a lifetime today, but Phil looks properly worried, like this really means something. As weird as it is, _whatever_ this is, it’s clearly a big part of Phil and he _wants_ to share it with Dan. That trumps any fear of the unknown he has, really. 

And besides, it’s not the unknown. It’s Phil. 

“When it comes to you, my threshold is limitless,” Dan says.

Then, because that settles far too thick and _real_ in the air, he adds, “Get freaky on me, Philly.” 

Dan regrets the words the second they’re out of his mouth, arguably worse than his previous sincerity, but then Phil snorts. And then Phil’s laughing. 

Phil’s smiling, and that’s all that matters. 

“Okay. Dan ruined the mood. We get it,” Dan says lightly slapping at Phil’s arm as Phil tries to contain his shaky giggles. 

He didn’t think it was that hard, but it leaves a tingle against his palm. Dan rubs against the spot apologetically. The room grows brighter. 

“I already did that,” Phil says, sitting back up straight in Dan’s lap. 

“Nah.” Dan smirks, rolling up his hips as evidence. Phil looks far too affected by it, which satisfies Dan in that primal way, but he doesn’t take it any further than the playful nudge.

Phil shakes his head. “Okay, can we be serious for a second?” 

“Don’t know if we’re physically capable of that,” Dan teases, but he shifts around, sitting up straighter and looking at Phil with his full attention. 

Phil takes in a deep breath, holding his hands out again like before. Dan stares at his palms, as if he’s supposed to be finding an answer in them, and he feels Phil’s exhale fan across his face. 

“I- I don’t know how to really explain this,” Phil says hesitantly. “So I think I should just show you first.” 

Dan flicks his eyes back up to Phil’s face and he gives him an encouraging nod when he sees the worry there. 

“You made my hair pink earlier,” Dan reminds him, “and I’m still right here.” 

That seems to lift something from Phil’s shoulders. The crease between his brows softens. 

Phil’s eyes go sharp, determined. He stares at Dan for a long moment, as if there’s some sort of riddle in the muddled brown Dan knows he’s looking into. Then, his eyes flick to his open palms. Dan’s follow. 

“Can you touch my hands?” Phil whispers into the quiet room. 

Dan bites his tongue, _I think I would do anything for you._

Sometimes you don’t need to say it, you can just show it. So Dan does as he’s asked. 

Skin meets, and for once, everything makes sense. 

There’s no explaining it away this time. The second their fingers brush, Dan is seeing— _actually seeing—_ what he’s felt every time they’ve touched. A sparking trail of light follows the path of Dan’s fingertips. The buzz under his skin has never felt so strong, and it’s the most magical thing he’s seen all day. 

“Holy fucking…” Dan can’t believe his eyes, but at the same time he _actually_ _can_ believe his eyes. 

“I thought I was-” Words are hard to string together, he’s practically rendered speechless. Disconnected fragments of thoughts make their way out of his mouth as he slides his fingers across Phil’s hands. 

Dan shakes his head. “All this time…” He runs his index finger up Phil’s pinky, across his palm, and pushes the sleeve of his jumper up his arm until Phil hums something about it tickling. A honey golden glow lingers before it dissipates, Dan taking his hands back to have a moment to breathe. 

“I know it’s probably a lot to take in.” 

“No Phil,” Dan says quickly, taking Phil’s hands in his own. With a flash of light, the buzz settles to a low tingle, spreading a warmth from their clasped hands throughout Dan’s entire body. He melts into it, looking from their hands up to Phil’s eyes. “No, this is like- this makes so much fucking sense.” 

“I don’t-” Phil shakes his head with a look of disbelief, “I don’t understand.”

Dan lets go of Phil’s hands to squeeze around his waist, pulling Phil closer. There’s a spark of pink as Dan’s thumb brushes against a sliver of soft skin and Phil shudders, letting his eyes shut as he breathes out. Dan doesn’t pull his hand away. In fact, he does it again. He stares at the spot at Phil’s hip, the light getting brighter as his swipes become longer, pushing up Phil’s jumper until his hand disappears underneath it. The light is still there, muted through the black fabric.

Dan flicks his eyes up, Phil’s are still closed. There’s a gentle smile on his face. Dan can’t really tell if it’s Phil trembling, or him. It’s probably both. 

“I thought I was losing my mind at first.” Dan huffs out a laugh. He trails up to the top of Phil’s ribs and when his breath catches he slides back down. “You should see my search history. I was half convinced I needed to go to the optometrist, Googling shit about seeing sparks that I knew weren’t there.” Dan looks back to the light under Phil’s jumper. “But they _were.”_

“Oh my god,” Phil says. 

“Yeah,” Dan laughs. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

Dan is quick to shake his head, sliding his hands around Phil’s back to hold him closer. Phil shifts to sling his arms over Dan’s shoulders, melting into it with a soft sigh and a tingle at the back of Dan’s neck that vibrates all the way down his spine. 

“You didn’t-” Dan cuts himself off with a hum, his eyes falling shut at the feeling of Phil’s fingers in his hair. “It’s quite alright,” he settles on, breathless. 

The room is bright as their hands wander. Their lips find each other again, and there’s less of a rushed insistence now—softer, gentler, but there’s no less heat to it. It’s bubbling back up, manifesting in the soft hums and breathy sighs falling from their lips, and the red hue the room starts to turn with every brush of skin against skin. 

Dan pulls away to appease the hands that have been tugging at his top, he pulls it over his head and flings it _somewhere—_ far more interested in the hands on his chest than the state of his floor. There’s a brush of Phil’s thumb against his nipple and the sound that leaves his mouth in response will probably, definitely, be pissing off his neighbors. 

Phil’s jumper soon follows. The colorful bird on his chest is replaced with the bright flash of Dan’s palm sliding across his chest to his shoulder, pushing him over until he’s sat in Phil’s lap.

“Does this always happen when someone touches you?” Dan asks, pulling away from a kiss to watch the light emanating from Phil’s cheek where his thumb is pressed. 

Phil’s head moves back and forth under his touch. “No.” His eyes close briefly as he leans his head to the side, Dan holding its weight in his hand. “This is you,” Phil hums. His eyes blink open, finding Dan’s and holding his gaze. “You’re making my magic feel like this.” 

“But,” Dan starts, a slight tug at his brow. It feels as though questions like _how is that possible?_ are beyond silly at this point, but they sit on his tongue regardless. 

“Yeah,” Phil clears his throat to speak above a whisper, but not by much. “I can like…” Phil takes in a deep breath, he keeps his eyes locked on Dan’s as he bites his lip, and the sparks under Dan’s hand dissipate.

The tingling feeling remains, Dan’s starting to think it’ll always be buzzing under his skin as long as he’s near Phil, but suddenly it all feels so wrong. 

Phil has closed his eyes, and there’s a pull between his brows that twists at Dan’s heart. 

“Stop that,” Dan softly pleads. He doesn’t like this one bit. 

Phil lets out his breath, his shoulders deflating and a pale blue shining between them as Dan presses his thumb against Phil’s skin to smooth his tension away. 

“It hurts… when you do that?” Dan asks slowly. 

“When it’s really strong, like right now,” Phil hums, the tension starts to pull again and Dan keeps gently swiping his thumb. “And uh, earlier when we- I felt like I was going to explode. And not in a good way,” he adds with a small huff of a laugh. 

“I’m sorry,” Dan says. “You don’t- please, don’t ever think you have to suppress that around me, okay?” The light under Dan’s thumb turns a deep purple. He washes it across Phil’s forehead, then hums at the pretty dark blue as he cups the side of his face. 

“I’m starting to think I won’t be able to.” Phil smiles, nuzzling his face into Dan’s hand. 

“That’s quite alright with me.” 

Phil lets out a breath, another layer of tension relaxing at his shoulders. Dan briefly wonders how he hasn’t snapped like a rubber band stretched around one of those balls, Phil seems so wound up for someone that comes across as so care-free on the surface. 

“Sometimes it’s a lot easier to hide it around you,” Phil says softly. He presses a kiss to Dan’s palm and the light between them goes a soft pink. “But uh- clearly it’s hard for me tonight.” 

“Then don’t, definitely don’t.” Dan wants to lean back in to kiss him, his body is aching for it, really, but amongst the three thousand questions bouncing through his mind, there’s one he’s particularly interested in as he taps a few blue sparks against Phil’s cheekbone. 

“Are you changing that?” 

“Hm?” Phil hums, his eyes that had fluttered shut under Dan’s touch opening again. 

“The colors,” Dan says. “Are you changing them?” 

Phil shakes his head. 

Dan hums curiously. “Not voluntary?” 

Phil presses his lips together, his eyes briefly flicking away from Dan’s, then back. “No. Uh- I actually think it’s you,” he says in a breath of a whisper. 

_“Me?”_

Phil nods. Instead of listening to his brain’s instinct to pull away, Dan shuffles closer. He trails his hand down Phil’s neck, traces his collarbone, runs through his chest hair—watching in awe as the light that follows fades into every color he thinks of, every color he _feels_ in his chest. 

“Holy fuck.” 

“You just did that?” 

Dan nods, continuing to swirl light around Phil’s skin, warmth flowing throughout him. 

It’s beautiful. He looks up to the blue of Phil’s eyes. Phil is beautiful. He dips down, capturing Phil’s mouth in his so he doesn’t do something stupid like cry with the hysterical feeling that’s bubbling in his chest. 

“I feel like I’m doing magic,” Dan says when he pulls away, a flash of pink as their noses bump together. It’s a silly thing to say, he knows it, but maybe he just feels a bit silly—drunk and stupid and silly on love. 

No matter how much he focuses, the only colors drawn against Phil’s skin are of a pink hue. 

“It is magic,” Phil replies, his bottom lip brushing against Dan’s. 

Dan thinks that he may actually be starting to understand the whole edging thing as his room once again fills with panting breaths and incoherent half-sentences. Phil is just… distracting, in about a million and one different ways. But Dan thinks this time he might _actually_ explode into a fine mist that settles like dust to the surfaces of his room if they slow back down again. 

He’s beyond painfully hard when Phil unhooks his fingers from where they’re pulling at his belt loops and moves them to toy with the button of his jeans. His embarrassingly whorish moan is thankfully swallowed by Phil’s mouth, and it’s followed by a whine when Phil backs off, pressing their foreheads together. 

“This alright?” Phil pants. 

“Phil, I swear if you don’t get these off of me like _yesterday_ I-” 

“Okay!” Phil says, his voice suddenly bright. 

Dan starts to pull back at the complete change of tone. “Wha- _oh._ ” His eyes go wide as he looks down. At bare legs. His jeans are just gone. 

He watches as Phil drags sparks up and down his thighs, stupefied for a moment. 

“Too much?” Phil asks, hesitantly. 

Dan snorts a laugh, shaking his head. “Not enough.” 

But he doesn’t wait for Phil to give his pants the same treatment. He shifts off his lap to wiggle out of them, and the second they’re flung behind him, he comes right back to tug at Phil’s fly. As cool, and fucking _strange,_ it is that Phil can undress him with nothing more than a blink—actually, not even a blink—Dan likes the give and take. And Dan _really_ likes the way Phil’s muscles twitch under his touch when he tugs his jeans and pants off for him, lips pressing red hot kisses down his thighs. 

Dan might be drooling a bit—sitting back on his bum on Phil’s knees—at the sight of Phil. _All_ of Phil. But that’s no one’s business but his own, really. 

Phil’s laying back at the head of the bed, resting on his elbows to look up at Dan with the darkest eyes he’s ever seen. 

“Phil,” Dan starts, looking at him with a serious gaze. “There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you since, like, the first time we met…” 

Dan can see the second Phil stops himself from audibly sighing out of annoyance—they’re both so far gone, both so fucking desperate. But Dan’s also kind of a cheeky git.

He barely manages to keep his laughter in as Phil sits up a bit further, nodding to let him know he’s listening. 

“Can I _please_ suck you off?” 

The laughter bubbles over the second the question leaves his lips, and Phil unceremoniously swats at his shoulder. 

“You- fucking-” Phil wheezes. 

“Yeah,” Dan deadpans, “I’m trying to do something like that.” He opens his mouth to say something else, but it’s wiped from his mind as Phil tangles his fingers in his curls. 

They both laugh the entire way down. 

Dan has intentions to put it in his mouth, he really does, but the whole _sparks of light come off of us whenever we touch_ thing proves to be quite the distraction when there’s a dick involved. 

And he can’t- he can’t even begin to explain it, but it’s like he _feels_ every pump of his fist, every soft trail of his finger up the side of Phil’s shaft. It’s like nothing he’s ever experienced before, and for every new sensation he categorizes, he discovers five more. 

“Phil,” he says, voice a bit muffled as his cheek is pressed against Phil’s thigh, watching as his hand tugs up and down. “It feels-” Dan still doesn’t know how to explain, he’s just desperate to know. 

“Does it feel like this for you too?” he asks, shifting his head to look up at Phil. 

“Like you’re poking a metal fork into my socket?” 

Dan is, literally, rendered speechless at that. It builds up into the most unattractive snort-cackle that has probably ever left his body, but he can’t help it. 

“Yeah, exactly like that Phil,” Dan laughs as he pushes up from his gazing spot on Phil’s thigh, smiling like a fucking idiot. 

“This is just like...” Dan follows the red light his strokes leave behind, mesmerized. “This is so cool. I could do this for hours.” 

There’s a grunt of a noise out of Phil’s throat in response—a _please do, but also please don't—_ and Dan takes the hint. 

With one last long finger trailing up Phil’s shaft, Phil shuddering under his touch and Dan marveling at the shocks of light coming off his own skin, Dan wraps his hand around Phil and takes him in his mouth. 

He’s already salivating for it, making the wet slide to his throat immediate and satisfying—for both parties. Phil groans, a hand once again finding purchase in Dan’s curls, and Dan hums as he sucks. 

He’s used to letting his eyes shut close in this position, completely focusing on the task at hand, unless he’s asked otherwise. This time, he isn’t asked, but he doesn’t shut them. Dan keeps his eyes trained on the pull of Phil’s muscle at his neck as his head dips back against Dan’s pillow. 

He lets go of Phil’s cock, keeping his other hand gripped at the flesh of the back of Phil’s thigh, and sinks all the way down. He trails his newly freed hand through soft hair, then ghosts the tips of his fingers in loops against his stomach, watching the sparks and Phil’s little jolts that follow. It’s like his own personal fireworks show where he’s setting them off _and_ has a dick in his mouth at the same time. Arguably more fun than sparklers on the balcony and _probably—_ he’ll have to ask—better for the environment. 

_Sweet heaven._

Dan feels Phil’s stomach tense against his fingertips, then the fingers in his hair do the same. 

“Fuck,” Phil breathes, “ _Dan_. I’m gonna-”

Dan pulls up enough to hum something intelligible with the tip of Phil’s cock still heavy on his tongue. “Yeah?” he encourages. 

Phil tugs at Dan’s hair again, more insistently, and Dan groans. He feels the pulse that accompanies Phil’s responding groan against his tongue. 

_God, he could come just like this._

“Mm.” Phil slides his hand out of Dan’s curls, sitting up to cup at his jaw instead, clearly learning his lesson. Dan flicks his eyes up, admiring the shade of red climbing up Phil’s chest that isn’t due to magic before meeting his eyes. Phil jolts and shuts his eyes for a moment as Dan flicks his tongue against his frenulum, just to be cheeky, before he pulls his mouth away. 

Phil shakes his head with a smile far too fond for their current situation when he opens his eyes, and Dan’s grinning like he’s got something else in his mouth as he loosely strokes Phil’s cock. 

“I was enjoying myself,” Dan says. 

“Yeah, well,” Phil tugs Dan’s hand away, “come enjoy yourself up here.” He pulls at Dan’s wrist and Dan goes easily, rolling his hips down the second their lips press together. 

Phil’s responding whine is stifled by Dan’s mouth and Dan decides that as much as he loves kissing Phil, he’s not the biggest fan of keeping him quiet. 

A hand snakes between their damp skin while Dan kisses at the corner of Phil’s mouth. He peppers kisses across the side of his face and down to his jaw, where his skin is just barely starting to get rough with a prickle of hair. Dan isn’t quite sure if he’s more jealous or turned on by it. And he really isn’t sure if the guttural noise that leaves his throat is in direct response to the image he’s creating in his head of Phil after a week without shavers, or because Phil’s hand finally wraps around him. 

It’s probably a bit of both. Dan bites at the soft flesh below Phil’s jaw just so he doesn’t come right then and there. 

When Dan manages to connect his brain back to his mouth, something other than a string of curses is breathed against Phil’s skin, “What do you want?” 

Phil stills his movements, stretching up to purr something absolutely obscene in Dan’s ear. 

It’s the first time Dan is completely positive about the source of the tingle that spreads through his entire body while Phil flicks his tongue at his earlobe, playing with the little hoop in it. Dan whines as Phil makes his way down his neck, and reluctantly pulls back when he reaches the dip of his collarbone. They really should’ve made a detour to the bathroom _before_ landing here, because it’s so much more difficult to pull apart now. 

Phil makes an incredibly cute whining noise, his hands going all grabby at Dan’s arms to prevent him from getting up. 

Dan huffs out a laugh. “Phil, I have to get-” 

Phil cuts him off, “Where?” 

“What?” 

Phil lifts a brow. There’s a twinkle in his eye that Dan can catch even in the candlelight. He looks a bit smug, Dan’s kind of in love. 

“Bathroom…” Dan says slowly. 

Phil’s smile spreads wide across his face. Before Dan can blink, he’s holding a hand up, unfurling and swinging a roll of condoms in his face—ones Dan recognizes as his own, lifted from the box stuffed in the back of his medicine cabinet. Dan can only laugh. 

“Only needed one, show off.” Dan rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning so hard he actually feels a bit ridiculous about the ache at his jaw. “And you forgot the-” 

Phil drops the condoms, the packets falling to his chest with a soft crinkle. Then, clear as day, crystal even in Dan’s horny, hazy eyes, Phil has his hand wrapped around Dan’s very own bottle of Durex. 

Dan shakes his head, smiling wide as he looks down at Phil. 

“What the fuck,” he laughs. 

And Phil laughs, too, but the sound doesn’t last for long. Because if your boyfriend can materialize your fucking lube out of mid air, you have to at least have the common decency to not be slow about ducking your head and spreading his legs. 

The room is once again washed in darkness. The candles are blown out and returned back to their original state with a pinky promise from Phil, and a vague threat from Dan that he’d get up and sniff them all to check, if it weren’t for his wobbly spaghetti legs. 

There’s a similar fleeting thought about brushing his teeth, but he _really_ doesn’t want to get up. His bones getting fucked into jello aren’t even the determining factor for skipping a fresh mouth though—no, that’s more because he can’t imagine untangling his limbs from Phil’s. He’s so comfortable. It might actually be illegal, he thinks—but don’t quote him on that, he’s not privy to the law. 

Dan’s arm is behind Phil’s neck, feeling a bit pins and needly, but he doesn’t mind it because his fingers are sleepily playing with soft hair. Every so often Phil lets out a low hum of contentment and Dan feels it in his chest. Phil’s on his side, an arm slung across Dan’s chest, drawing nonsensical things with the pad of his index finger—little flashes of light against Dan’s shoulder. 

He’s exhausted. It’s been a long day, a weird, life altering day, and Dan isn’t sure why he’s fighting the weight on his eyelids. 

Well, actually he’s quite sure. Probably as sure as he’s ever been, really. 

“Hey,” Dan says softly, barely a croak of a whisper with sleep and misuse. He clears his throat. 

“Mm,” Phil hums. He stripes a few colorful lines against Dan’s skin, and Dan watches as they float up before the room becomes dark again. 

He turns his head to look at Phil. Their noses nearly bump. Phil shuffles that tiny bit of distance forward so they do, and Dan smiles. 

Yeah, he’s sure. 

“I…” he starts, trailing off. Phil is looking at him as intently as any sleepy—mostly blind sans glasses—man ever could. 

_It’s just two more words._ They should be easy to say, he feels them so strongly they’re practically bursting out of his chest. 

“I feel safe.” Dan looks right into those squinty eyes. “With you.” 

They’re not the words he meant to say, but he reckons it’s the same sentiment really. 

Yeah. It’s the same. He’s sure of it as it settles nicely in his chest. Maybe it’s even more meaningful, more accurate to his feelings, honestly. Dan decides it’s all he needs to say. Whether Phil gets it or not—it feels right. 

Phil brushes a finger against Dan’s cheek. Dan can see his dopey smile in the pink light of it. 

“Me too.” 

Something about the way it’s said, the way Phil reaches for the duvet pooling at their ribs to pull it over his shoulder and snug under Dan’s chin, makes him think—just for a moment—that Phil might know exactly what Dan means by it. 

And, maybe, Phil might actually mean it too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the [playlist!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0biHc1ZQYSyoNVF3fwjJ5A?si=rm3VlgC8QE-nUgODmjpQUg) feel free to cyberbully me _only_ because i decided magic by the cars was the perfect song for this chapter.


	16. Chapter 16

Sun warms Dan’s cheek. A strip of bright heat slowly makes its way across his skin, as if he’s some sort of human sundial. When the shadow over his eye is replaced with sunlight, he scrunches up his entire face, burying it into his pillow while he makes a soft grumble of a groan in protest of fully leaving the veil between sleep and consciousness. 

He thought Phil had slid his curtains shut last night, a ridiculous wiggle of a nose after Dan had shied away from the streetlight that burned into his eyelids in a similar manner to the sun now. Did he leave the window open—the breeze so strong it displaced the fabric? Or did he dream up Phil entirely? 

That, honestly, seems like the more realistic explanation. Phil wa-

_Wait._ Dan shakes his head as he wakes, his brain whirring to life—clearly lagging behind. 

_Phil._

Dan rolls back over, subjecting his face to the brightness again as he pats at the space beside him. He doesn’t come into contact with any warm limbs, but his jersey sheets aren’t cold. The low whine in his throat—disappointment—fills the room as he flops onto his back and sticks his knuckles into his eyes. He sees stars, displaces a few eye crusties, and blinks blearily into the offensive light. 

Another sound leaves his throat. Entirely different, but in that same low, whiny range. Maybe he’s whiny in the mornings. 

Maybe he’s just a bit whiny in general, alright? That’s nobody’s business but his. 

And, well, now he guesses it may be okay for it to be the business of the guy standing by his window. He can allow that. He wants that. 

_Maybe Phil is the sundial,_ Dan muses with an inaudible laugh to himself—his smile growing as warm as the sun on his face that shifts every few seconds with Phil’s small movements. He’s poking around the candles and pathetic excuses of potted succulents on the windowsill, picking up and inspecting each one as if they’re something to really marvel at. 

He is, also, naked as the day he was born. 

_Actually_ —Dan pulls his soft duvet up over his nose, hiding the overwhelmingly ridiculous grin on his face— _was Phil even born?_

He seemed to have a mostly normal upbringing from what Dan has learned so far. But he’s also filled to the brim with surprises. Dan wouldn’t put it past Phil to have been, like, hatched. Or beamed down from Mars. 

He can never be so sure. Dan bites back his laughter at the very idea—he’ll have to ask him. 

Later though. Now isn’t the time, not when there’s such a perfectly good distraction set out in front of him—a completely stripped down and bare expanse of pale skin. 

In the daylight he can pick out every freckle that appears from the back of Phil’s neck to the dip at the back of his knees where Dan is cut off by his horizontal position. He shifts up in bed—another small whine from his throat as his back cracks and his muscles stretch—sitting up against the headboard to get the full picture. Allowing himself to become the planet orbiting Phil’s star. The pull is _so_ strong. 

Suddenly, Dan is incredibly interested in celestial cartography. Images of Phil all sprawled out atop Dan’s sheets, the curtains blown open as Dan connects constellations with their own golden glow from the tip of his finger, fill Dan’s mind. He lets them settle sickly sweet like warmed honey, his eyes going bleary around the edges while he watches Phil lift the mug with the little chip in its lip that’s housing the most pathetic looking cactus off the sill. 

He doesn’t hold it by the handle, instead cupping his palm around it like it’s something precious and not just a physical manifestation of one of Dan’s breakdowns. Light emanates from his other hand, holding it over the struggling little life. His hand trembles ever so slightly, dangerously close to the little pricks that had Dan wearing plasters on his fingers for days. He doesn’t suffer the same fate though, not once flinching away as he whispers something barely audible to Dan’s ears. 

Phil turns—Dan’s breath catching at the sight of him in the light—with an adorably cute wrinkle between his brows. The light at his palm dims, flickering until there’s nothing peculiar about his hand at all. He looks at Dan for a moment, his face softening with a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. There’s something to say about how easily Dan can keep his eyes up, caught in Phil’s gaze, given the circumstance, but there’s a time and a place for words. Dan actually _wants_ his brain to shut up for a moment, let him just enjoy the feelings swelling in his chest without getting all billet-doux about it. 

“He wants a bigger pot.” Phil lifts the mug in his hand, brings it closer to where Dan’s eyes are glued. 

“Yeah?” Dan lifts a brow, crossing his arms against his chest under the duvet. It slips down, the cooled air from outside his warm cocoon biting at his bare shoulder. “How’d you know that?” 

“He told me,” Phil says with an easy smile. Dan’s brows shoot up immediately, his lips parting. He’s never been one for surprises, always seeking out the answers to every question that passes through his brain with a passion that often leaves him lagging behind—or awake at four in the morning with Wikipedia shaped bags under his eyes. But there’s something so— _ugh_ —magical about the things Phil surprises him with. 

He hopes he never tires of it. He doesn’t think he will. 

Phil barks out a laugh as he sets the sad mug back down between two candles, the cactus looking an unusually bright green in the sun. Dan notes how it’s no longer leaning to the left, now sticking straight up and proud. 

“I’m kidding,” Phil says, turning to Dan with a more mischievous smile. “I just know plants.” 

Dan huffs, rolling his eyes in a mock show of annoyance. The fond expression on his mouth completely gives him away. 

“Idiot.” 

“You look cute all stunned like that, I have no regrets.” 

Dan just sticks his tongue out. Phil returns the gesture. 

“Can I steal a hoodie?” Phil wiggles his hips a little with the question and Dan has no idea how he’s supposed to endorse Phil putting _on_ clothes after that. 

“Yeah,” Dan hums, uncrossing his arms and letting his duvet fully slip down as he reaches them out towards Phil. “Come here.” He makes grabby hands and smiles when Phil comes to him without question or a single millisecond of hesitation. 

Dan stretches up, a big hand at the back of Phil’s neck until he’s bending down to Dan’s level. He links his fingers and tugs Phil closer, pulling him into a kiss still drenched in sleep—slow and syrupy like the warm feeling that’s seeking permanent residence in his chest. He loosens his grip once Phil has a hand buried in the pillows propped up behind him, not needing to keep a hold on Phil for him to be as close as Dan wants—as close as he _needs_. 

A golden hue envelops the room as Dan runs his fingers through the soft hair at the back of Phil’s head, down to the nape of his neck, nails barely dragging down the smooth expanse of Phil’s back. He doesn’t think they come up for air once. 

Breathless, Dan pulls back, bumps his nose against Phil’s cheek and squeezes at another. Phil giggles against the corner of Dan’s mouth, and Dan can’t help but knead a little as he presses a soft kiss to Phil’s cheekbone before he pulls away to nod at the other side of the room. 

“Second drawer is hoodies, think some of yours are in there anyway,” Dan says, looking past Phil at his dresser. Phil nods, but he doesn’t turn his head—doesn’t take his half lidded eyes off of Dan’s face. “Top drawer: pants. If you so please,” he adds with a little tap of a slap. 

Phil huffs a laugh at that. He kisses the tip of Dan’s nose and bounces away from the bed before Dan can land any more. And he _does_ try, whacking air instead of skin as Phil skips away. As much as Dan wants to watch the ridiculous nude man bumble about his room, he’s completely unable to do anything more than roll into his pillows face first, muffling the embarrassingly happy sounds leaving his throat. 

Through waning giggles and too-wide smiles smushed into a pillow that smells strongly of Phil’s shampoo, Dan stretches an arm out the duvet, hand tapping at hardwood until he locates and grips around fabric. He pushes himself up and pulls the jumper over his head, yawning as he runs a useless hand through displaced bed hair. 

“Can you throw me fresh pants?” Dan yawns through the request, looking over at Phil—now just a bare bum topped with red—digging through his top drawer. Phil hums something in response and a pair of black pants are flung at his face. 

It’s all so… domestic. Warm feet hitting the chilled floor as he pulls on his pants. Phil helping himself to a pair of Dan’s socks once he’s no longer nude, another pair tossed Dan’s way without so much as a whine or request. Phil in Dan’s old University hoodie, probably the most garish thing Phil could find other than the few things of his own Dan has folded up in his dresser. Dan in Phil’s black jumper with the bright bird on the chest, discarded from last night. 

There’s a few audible pops and cracks as Dan stands up and stretches his arms up to the ceiling. Phil hums a, “ _Nice,_ ” under his breath while Dan looks at him with an expression so fond even he feels a bit sick by it. 

Phil takes his hand when it drops to his side, something similar flashing on his face before he turns and tugs him towards the bathroom. 

There really shouldn’t be such a strong feeling of normalcy floating around them. What kind of weirdos hold hands during the five second walk to the bathroom? 

_They do, apparently._

It shouldn’t feel like second nature to make little jokes through the door while they take turns peeing, and there’s no reason to be so obsessed with being around someone that Phil bumps his hip against Dan’s while he’s squeezing toothpaste out of the tube. He definitely uses too much, gets a string of it on the sink—but that’s alright. 

“I feel like my tongue has been well acquainted with the inside of your mouth enough for you to use mine if you want,” Dan hums around the buzz of his toothbrush. A bit of dribbly foam leaks from the edge of his mouth and Phil makes a silly face where their eyes are locked in the mirror. 

“Gross.” 

Dan ducks his head to spit in the sink, then pops right back up and tugs Phil forward by the front of his own hoodie to plant a gross minty kiss on his lips. Instead of jumping back, Phil presses forward. 

“Hm,” Dan hums against Phil’s mouth, pulling back. “Gross, but you’re still kissing me.” 

“Think it would be against the law to refuse a kiss from you,” Phil says softly, low in his throat before leaning closer again to steal another kiss. 

“Also you’re forgetting I can do this.” Phil waves something in front of Dan’s face once he’s pulled away again. His eyes focus on it when his head stops floating somewhere above him—a bright pink toothbrush. 

Phil is holding his other hand out, waiting to be handed the toothpaste on the other side of Dan with a smirk on his mouth and a glint in his eyes, and Dan has never felt more in love. 

A similar shade of pink to Phil’s toothbrush sparks between them as he rolls his eyes and passes off the tube. It doesn’t shift much or change colors at all after Dan’s rinsed his mouth out and finds a comfortable place to be with his chin tucked into Phil’s shoulder and his arms wrapped around his waist. Two full minutes of soft pink kisses against Phil’s neck and a rose colored trail at Phil’s hipbone where an index finger has slid under the band of his pants. 

All things considered, it feels quite normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [playlist link!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0biHc1ZQYSyoNVF3fwjJ5A?si=Z-g3BPDeQf2deLPzAIUoBg)  
> also hello remember when i said i wouldn't be posting in september bc i was overwhelmed well i guess we know now that i am a big fat liar get frankie muniz in here stat hope u enjoyed and i will see u in the spooky month for hopefully more of this but also some special halloweeeenie stories :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who asked for side of horny with their pancakes?

“I don’t think I have any- _oh_.” Dan chuckles, looking up from the coffee maker to meet Phil’s eyes from behind a bag of flour. He’s been opening and digging through Dan’s cupboards, dead set on locating pancake ingredients without the assistance of magic, Dan watching in flashes out of the corner of his eye as he sets coffee to brew. 

Phil’s got this wicked look on his face, the cutest mischief Dan’s ever seen, and Dan doesn’t call it out. There’s absolutely no way he had a full bag of flour—honestly doesn’t think he’s _ever_ bothered adding it to a grocery order. He shakes his head with a fond smile, pulling two mugs out of the cabinet Phil opened and left ajar, and closes two more as he sets them down and leans against the counter. 

They bump shoulders and hips, steal chaste kisses and push displaced bits of hair off foreheads as they work around each other. Dan mostly just waiting for the trickle of coffee to stop with an amused smile while he purposefully takes up more space than needed, getting in Phil’s way as he familiarizes himself with every inch of Dan’s kitchen. He could help, point Phil to where he keeps the pans or step around him to grab the sugar himself, but this is far more entertaining. 

Even if he nearly smacks his forehead on a cabinet door after Phil lets him go from a dizzying kiss he caught him in on his way to the fridge to get milk for their coffees. 

“Sorry! Sorry!” Phil rushes to pull him close with a giggle that sounds anything but, tilting his chin to press a kiss to Dan’s unscathed temple. 

Dan rolls his eyes, pushes him away with a smile so wide he’s not sure how his whole face hasn’t split right at the seams yet. 

“You know,” he says from behind the refrigerator door, “that could be a practical use of that magic of yours.” 

Phil grabs at Dan’s hip and squeezes as he steps past, shaking the carton absently in his hand. “Where’s the fun if I know you’ll close them anyway?” 

“You’re horrible.” Dan pokes at Phil’s nose, then turns to grab the coffee pot, filling both mugs with the steaming liquid that’s quickly overtaken his small kitchen—making it smell of warm and cozy. 

“You like it.” Dan doesn’t look over to see the look on Phil’s face, but he can hear the smirk on it. That adorable glint in his eye. 

His heart flutters so fast he nearly overfills his own cup, catching himself two seconds away from drenching the counter. He plays it off as intentional— _black coffee isn’t all that bad_ —and twists off the cap to splash milk into the other. 

“I do,” he hums softly, ruffling Phil’s hair all out of place on his way back over to the fridge. Phil leaves it as it is. He looks absolutely ridiculous when he smiles and leans over to grab Dan’s wrist and shovel two more large spoonfuls of sugar into the lighter mug. 

Neither of them pay any mind to the trail of sweet granules scattered across the counter in his wake. 

It’s all so _easy_ to fall into. Makes Dan feel so weightless he has to slide out a chair from his little table by the window in hopes that if he sits down he won’t float up through the ceiling. He leans back, crossing an ankle over a knee and tapping his toes in the air to the soft music Phil had filled the room with at some point. Phil hums as he goes, and Dan tries so hard to keep himself tethered to the ground, watching his every move from above the lip of his favorite final fantasy mug. 

He gets an odd shiver. A feeling of having lived this impossible moment before. It racks down his spine and threatens to slosh the coffee right out of his mug, but it washes away quickly, a cloud of flour and a squeak from Phil turning the twist in his stomach into full bodied laughter. The front of Dan’s red hoodie is covered in flour when Phil turns to look at him with an absolutely pitiful face, urging on more laughter so forceful Dan has to set his coffee down on the table so he doesn’t get a lap full. 

“Messy boy,” he teases, reaching his hands out to a pouty, approaching Phil. Phil meets him halfway, lets him take the glasses off his face and wipe the mess off of them on the soft fabric of Phil’s jumper. He attempts to steal a kiss and nearly gets poked in the eye as Dan slides them back on. 

_I love you,_ Dan’s heart screams. _I love you so much you stupid, perfect man._

He brushes his thumb against Phil’s cheek, revels in the roughness of stubble at his jaw that turns silky smooth as he drifts over his cheekbone, resting just under his eye. Phil leans into the touch, the weight of his head heavy and grounding in the palm of his hand. 

If Dan were to float away, he reckons Phil would come too. He doesn’t mind the idea. 

With a kiss to that stupid, perfect nose, Dan lets him go and sits back with his coffee to watch the tornado in his kitchen unfold—nothing but warmth trapped in his chest and held between his palms. 

There’s an aura of ease around Phil. Something lifted off his shoulders that Dan didn’t even think he knew him well enough to catch—but he catches it. Magic comes to Phil like breathing comes to Dan. 

Which, _okay,_ maybe that’s a bad analogy when he keeps forgetting to breathe, but that’s entirely Phil’s fault. _He’s got to stop being so breathtaking._

Phil’s glasses slip down the bridge of his nose as he looks down into the bowl of thick batter he’s stirring, but they slide right back up without him letting go of the bowl or the whisk. It makes Dan take in a small, sharp gasp, spluttering a bit on his coffee, and Phil doesn’t even look his way. 

He pauses his stirring for a moment, looking down at the mixing bowl with a furrowed brow. He swears under his breath, then Dan’s carton of almond milk is in his hand in a flash. Dan blinks. It’s gone as quick as it appeared, Phil tipping a splash in before voiding it back off to— _well,_ Dan hopes his fridge. 

Magic is sprinkled into every movement. And Dan only feels more and more warm as Phil stops pausing to rethink his actions or mutter soft apologies at what comes natural to him. Dan wants that for him—so badly it makes his heart ache. Pale pink blooms between them when Dan gets up to refill his coffee, a hand at Phil’s shoulder while he looks questionably at the spatula in his hand. As if there’s something suspicious about it. 

Phil shrugs, drops the utensil to tug Dan in for a kiss instead, pancake flipping in the air without any assistance. Dan lets his eyes fall shut, forgets about the distinct splat he hears that definitely doesn’t sound like a pancake falling back into the pan—but rather on the floor—and lets Phil take his breath away. 

He tastes of coffee and magic, and Dan thinks he’s never believed in anything stronger. He slips his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, pulls Phil closer until they’re stumbling over each other’s feet and Phil pins him against the opposite counter. 

There’s a half cooked pancake on the floor somewhere, the sizzling pan on the stove tilts on its own—keeping the melted butter from bubbling and burning, and Phil is helping Dan hop up on the counter. It all feels like a dance. Gracefully clumsy and mildly dangerous in a way Dan doesn’t once worry about, because all he can focus on is the feeling of his fingers tangled in Phil’s hair and kissing away the words that are so desperately trying to spill out of his chest. 

Just about everything else does. He feels lucky for it. Soft whines of Phil’s name, nonsensical babbling of praise and encouragement, hushed groans with Phil’s mouth finding a home in the bit of skin just above the collar of his jumper. 

Thumbs slide their way under the hem of Dan’s pants. Firm hands at his thighs keep him from becoming a part of the red that shines between them—softening above their heads before disappearing all together. 

“I-” Dan gasps. Phil kisses at the spot his teeth just sunk into, then pulls away, wide blue eyes sparkling brighter than the glitter in his frames. 

Dan can feel the heat all over his face, hopes Phil takes it as anything but the overwhelmingly embarrassing blush it is—the heat of the hob maybe, a reflection from his hoodie. 

Thumbs brush gently against the skin of his thighs, sending an unseasonable shiver down his red hot spine. 

_I’m so in love with you._

“Yeah?” Phil says, low. Deep in a way that nearly makes Dan whimper. He hooks his ankles around Phil’s legs, tugs himself closer until he’s at risk of sliding off the counter all together—if not for the stable body there to lean into. Pulling Phil back into a kiss, Dan hums, tightens his fingers in the material of his hoodie, and hopes to whoever’s out there that Phil doesn’t understand what he’s saying without words. 

“You’re such a distraction,” Phil says with a little huff of a laugh in the small space between them. His bottom lip just barely brushes against Dan’s. 

“You love it.” Dan’s mouth moves before his brain. 

“Mm,” Phil hums. “Want you to do it some more.” He bumps their noses together, makes Dan scrunch his face all up. 

“Do you now?” 

Phil pulls back, just to fully meet Dan’s eyes. “Yeah,” he says with an easy smile. 

“Yeah,” Dan repeats as he pulls him in again. 

_Who’s he to deny anything Phil asks for?_ He’s got it so, so bad and he doesn’t think he’d want it any other way. 

Dan threads his fingers in Phil’s hair. He tugs in a way that sends off a domino effect of groans. One, surprised, low in Phil’s throat, sending a shock wave from his cock all the way to the tip of each and every one of his fingers and toes until a similar sound is in his own throat. 

The edge of the counter digs into his flesh, making everything just that little bit _more._ He briefly wonders if Phil gets that same feeling—with the tile pressing lines into his knees—as he leans into it and Phil follows without any push or pull. 

He doesn’t think he has to ask, when Phil looks up and fucking _whimpers_ as he presses his head hard against Dan’s hand. Dan gets the hint, grips harder, lets his head roll back against the cabinet. He never takes his eyes off Phil though, doesn’t think he could if he tried. 

The thing is… looking down at eyes so blown out he’d forget they were ever blue if he weren’t so obsessed, watching those pink lips stretched tight around his cock, his mind still only supplies the sappiest of thoughts. 

He thinks that’s why it slips out—not his cock, no that’s still sitting heavy on Phil’s tongue, but the question. 

“Are you my boyfriend?” It’s not said in a sexy way, not in a low encouraging voice or, like, some kind of _tell me what you are_ dirty talk. It’s just a genuine question, one that flies through Dan’s mind and immediately leaves his mouth, bypassing the filter. 

Dan can’t really decide if it’s more or less appropriate than an accidental, “ _I love you,”_ to the guy giving him sloppy head on his kitchen floor. _That_ was sitting so heavy on _his_ tongue he’s genuinely surprised by what came out instead. 

Phil has the audacity to snort around his cock. Then, actually starts to say something around it—all garbled and muffled and unexpectedly _hot_ that Dan _almost_ doesn’t pull him away. But now that it’s out there he’s curious, wants to hear the answer badly enough to wrangle the horny brain cell and take himself out of Phil’s mouth with a soft chuckle. 

Phil, actually, rolls his eyes. Dan has half a mind to slap him right on the cheek for the look he’s giving him, so he does. But it’s more of a soft little tap of the head than anything else, making both of them laugh and leaving a glistening wet spot of either precum or Phil’s spit in its wake. 

Dan can’t believe all his brain supplies is: _pretty._

“I _said,_ your dick is literally in my mouth.” 

Dan smirks. “Not anymore.” 

Phil laughs, lands a slap on Dan’s thigh that does nothing but make him shudder—breathing heavy through his nose. “Shut up.” 

Dan looks down with a raised brow, a wordless, “ _Well?”_ waiting for an answer. He isn’t quick to get one, Phil making a silly face and bumping his cheek against his dick again—an easy out with his cock inches away from his mouth. He kind of wants to take it, feeling stupid rejection start to bubble up in his chest despite not getting any indication of the sort. It doesn’t help that Phil’s looking up at him with those wide, blue eyes, lips all shiny and slightly parted, hair so fucked up from sleep and Dan’s ministrations that it looks like the perfect home for a few birds. _Beautiful._

Phil lets out a little huff of a laugh. “To answer your question,” he squeezes at Dan’s thigh, “I’d sure hope so, otherwise I just had the wrong guy’s dick in my mouth.” 

“Case of mistaken identity,” Dan says with nervous snort. Phil shakes his head. He leans forward in a way that makes Dan breathe in sharp through his nose, though the kiss placed right in the center of his thigh is quite gentle—loving. 

“Is that something you were worried about?” Phil says softly, looks up with nothing but concern amidst all that blue. 

Dan shakes his head, stutters through some vowels while he tries to think through the things that look and tone are doing to him. Phil’s little huffs of warm breath against his skin are absolutely not helping. 

“No- I mean, yeah. I guess,” Dan huffs. He shakes his head as if that’ll miraculously kill the blush on his cheeks. “I just-” He breathes deeply through his nose, runs his hand through Phil’s hair, pushing it back and trailing along the underside of his jaw. “I don’t know- can I put my cock back in your mouth?” 

Phil suppresses a snort, smirks instead. “I dunno,” he says, all cheeky. Dan presses his thumb to the corner of his mouth, tugging down a bit to wipe the expression away. “ _Can_ you?” 

Dan gets a finger in his mouth the second his lips part, Phil only opens wider, somehow still retaining that teasing look in his eyes. 

“Oh I hate you.” Dan grins around his words, humming at the warm, soft pressure of Phil’s tongue against his thumb. 

“Hey,” Phil says, all muffled and _adorable._ Dan slips his thumb out, wipes it at Phil’s shoulder. “You’re the writer,” he teases. In more ways than the one, the hand still at Dan’s thigh sliding up until the touch is gone all together, Phil getting a loose hand around his cock. 

Dan can’t take it a second longer, gripping at the top of Phil’s head and groaning loudly at the way Phil immediately drops his jaw to take him in. 

He doesn’t think you’re supposed to laugh when you come, doesn’t think they should be so wracked in giggles that they both end up in a pile of tangled limbs on the cold tile—a hand of reciprocation swatted away as Phil actually starts to hiccup. But it just feels like them. It feels right. 

“Alright,” Dan wheezes. “Come on,” he huffs as he heaves himself up, a steadying hand on the counter while he regains feeling in his toes and rights his pants. “We were making pancakes,” he says once they’re all untwisted and back over all of his bits, holding both his hands out towards the still sprawled out Phil. 

“Oh,” Phil says, then immediately hiccups—a hand slapped over his mouth and eyes going wide. His genuine shock at the jolt makes Dan’s heart melt right out of his ass. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” 

Dan shakes his head, rolling his eyes down at Phil despite the _so fond it’s gross_ look that’s surely reflected in his eyes. He trails them down, trying to break up the feeling in his chest that's enveloping his whole body with the way a similar look takes residence on Phil’s face. 

He doesn’t know why. The sight of him all half lidded and cozied up in his hoodie only makes the feeling stronger. His knees do look a little red, Dan feels compelled to kneel back down and kiss them, but that would be… too much. 

He lets Phil grab his hands instead. Lets him lock their fingers together so Dan can pull him up with an incredibly unsexy grunt and a shocking amount of force that sends them both stumbling backwards. 

Dan won’t complain though, he doesn’t mind having Phil pressed close to his chest. He wraps his arms tight around his waist, burying his face in the crook of his neck—pancakes well and truly be damned. He doesn’t mind it at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Playlist!!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0biHc1ZQYSyoNVF3fwjJ5A?si=cu40YQepSDSO4SHi0fdyzg)


End file.
